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They sat — just two lovers- — but all the dreams of the i)ast, 
all the joys of the present, all the hopes of the future, 
seemed within their grasp.” — Page 125. 

^Frontispiece.') 


The Transition 

BY 

JOHN L. HILL 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY 

835 BROADWAY, NE)W YORK 






Copyright, ipop, 
by 

JOHN L. HILL. 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Received 

JUN iS 1809 





TO THOSE be:aring burdens but 

GATHERING STRENGTH THIS 
BOOK IS DEDICATED 
BY 


THE AUTHOR. 



FOREWORD 


Religion has always been an essential, 
though a differential one. T ime was when 
it was as a torch flaming in the darkness 
of misconception and superstition, light- 
ing man on to zuorthy effort and success- 
ful achievement. 

Though, ethically and altruistically, it 
has been the basis of all advancement , yet 
there are many of us who regard it as less 
important than the arts and sciences, for- 
getting that progression in these very 
branches has been due, mainly, to its in- 
fluence. 

Admitting, then, that it has been an ab- 
solute, positive factor in civilisation, it is 
obviously inconsistent to relegate it to a 
secondary place in the affairs of man. 

It should be a part of man's every day 
life, not a psychological phase to be en- 
tered upon on Sundays. 

All the law and the prophets are con- 
tained in the golden^ rule and its greater 
adjunct; and the application of these two 
comprehensive truths in the conduct of 
business and in the social convenances can 
be productive only of immeasurable good. 

Perfect equity we have long admired, 


Foreword — 2. 


hut with a passive admiration, and to ren- 
der it less abstractly ideal, to bring it into 
greater subjectivity, so to speak, would 
certainly not tend to retard man's prog- 
ress. 

Religion, generally speaking, is to-day 
considered a profession and its expositors 
are styled ''reverend,” which title is a re- 
minder of the days when the clergy drew 
harrowing pictures of Dante's Inferno 
and spoke as men having authority to deal 
out eternal damnation; when the laity ac- 
cepted the Simon Sty lit es and the Flagel- 
lants as the scapegoats of humanity and 
continued to transgress, safe, as they 
thought, in the belief that such sacrifice 
would find acceptance in the sight of a 
just Creator. 

Methinks respect for the clergy was 
due as much to a wholesome awe of pon- 
tifical supremity, armed as it was with the 
dreaded weapons of excommunication and 
anathema maranatha, as to admiration for 
and belief in the infallibility of the chosen 
few. 

We, in a more enlightened age, believe 
that ordination is not so much the work- 
ing out of any lazv of predestination as 
the outcome of a theological education. 

It does not follow that because a man is 
well versed in the Scriptures, he has nec- 


Foreword — s. 

essarily risen superior to the temptations 
of the fleshj any more than he has escaped 
its ills. 

The true preacher is he who declares 
any truth, whether political or sociolog- 
ical, not he who is an adept alone in sec- 
tarian polemics; that eloquence which is 
a primary requisite of effective persuasion 
in any line, is born of earnestness, not of 
homiletics. 

In working out the industrial problems 
we have come to the conclusion that divi- 
sion of labor is the speediest solution 
thereof. 

Each man has his zvork to do and it is 
only in descending, for the nonce, to our 
brother’s level, in taking our place at his 
side, that zve can best understand his 
needs, intellectually and otherwise. Only 
he who thoroughly understands the condi- 
tions under which his fellozv men are 
working, only he zvho is fully conversant 
with their aims and aspirations, only he 
who is fully azvare of the obstructions in 
their path, can best aid them to attain their 
ends and overcome their difficulties. 

The clergyman of the future zvill differ 
”in toto” from the clergyman of to-day. 
He zvill command our admiration not as 
a being set apart, but as a broad-minded 
worker in the world. 


Foreword — 4. 

He will no longer look upon the inter- 
pretation of the Word as a means to a 
livelihood; he will deliver his sermons, 
not at the rate of so much per annum, hut 
because they will he helpful to his strug- 
gling fellow men. 

His preaching will supplement his prac- 
tice and not vice versa. 

He will not be the exalted idealist of 
apostolic times, not the dispenser of exe- 
crations of the Middle Ages, but a man 
like ourselves, prone to err, though gifted 
with a keener insight into the light of 
things. 

It is indeed a good and pleasant thing 
to be able to apply zvhat I have said to the 
striking novel which follows — a work of 
fact not of fiction, yet teaching its fact- 
lessons with a delightful fiction-color ; 
philosophy,” as Macaulay said of his- 
tory, '‘teaching by examples.” The au- 
thor’s strongest point is that he leaves 
us to draw the moral, and the moral is 
the most tremendous that can concern the 
soul of man to-day. 



New York, April, 1909. 


The Transition 


CHAPTER 1 . 

In the mail received by Dr. Haley, Dean of the 
Theological Seminary at Lebanon, Tennessee, on 
the morning of May 20, 1895, was a letter, as fol- 
lows : 

Princeton, Ky., May 17, 1895. 
Rev. J. M. Haley, D.D., 

Lebanon, Tenn. 

Dear Dr. Haley: As you are perhaps aware. 
Dr. Ferguson, who has been pastor of our church 
for the last twenty-three years, has tendered us his 
resignation, to take effect May thirty-first. 

We feel that on account of the 'large number of 
young people in our congregation, we should have 
a young man, one sound in the faith and fully 
abreast of the times. Dr. Ferguson has consented 
to remain in our midst, and his successor, of course, 
will have the benefit of his long experience and 
conservative advice. 

If you have in the graduating class a man you 
think would be suited to us, please advise me, and 
we will invite him to visit us and occupy our pulpit 
at an early date. 

Very respectfully yours, 

Wm. J. Tarvin. 


9 


THE TRANSITION 


To the above communication the following re- 
ply was sent: 

Lebanon, Tenn., May 20, 1895. 

Col. Wm. J. Tarvin, 

Princeton, Ky. 

Dear Sir and Brother : Your letter of the sev- 
enteenth instant received, and contents carefully 
noted. I am fully appreciative of the situation at 
Princeton, and the needs of that congregation. I 
regret to learn that Dr. Ferguson has resigned. 
He has maintained the dignity of the Princeton pul- 
pit for more than two decades; but, on account of 
his age, and the more aggressive spirit of the times, 
a change might be advisable. It is wise, however, 
to have him remain as advisory pastor, and in view 
of this fact I am going to suggest a young man 
whom I should hesitate to recommend in dif- 
ferent circumstances. His name is John Hatton. 
His grades are below a number of others in the 
class, but he has personality — he does his own 
thinking. While he is not always entirely ortho- 
dox, he has an earnest simplicity, and his straight- 
forward manner at once disarms his critics and 
wins their sympathy and confidence. He is not a 
book- worm, but is a great student of human na- 
ture. He is bold and aggressive, but thoroughly 
loyal to the fundamental principles of Christianity. 

He has been disposed to question some of our 
denominational tenets, but has no disposition to as- 
10 


THE TRANSITION 


sail any of our doctrines; his convictions are al- 
ways honest. 

My conclusions, then, are, that it would be a 
most happy arrangement to locate him in Princeton, 
for Dr. Ferguson can exercise a wholesome influ- 
ence over him, and save him to our cause. Our 
denomination will need him, for he is bound to 
come to the front. I shall watch his career with 
great interest. 

Hoping that you will give him due consideration, 
I am. 

Most sincerely yours, 

J. M. Haley. 

P. S. — Another point I failed to mention is that 
Brother Hatton is not what you would call a pol- 
ished man. He comes of poor, but honest and 
sterling parentage, his family being connected with 
some of the best blood in the South. 

When he forgets himself and becomes lost in 
the themes of his sermons he is a most inspiring 
and commanding figure. 

I have entered into these details that you may not 
be disappointed on first acquaintance with him. 

J. M. H. 

Col. Tarvin was much impressed with Dr. Haley’s 
letter, and on the following Sunday morning called 
a meeting of the church session and read the letter 
to the Elders. After considerable discussion it was 
unanimously decided that the Rev. Mr. Hatton be 
II 


THE TRANSITION 


invited to visit Princeton the following Sunday and 
preach at the morning service. 

Dr. Ferguson, the retiring pastor, fully concurred 
in the wisdom of the action, feeling highly com- 
plimented by the suggestion in Dr. Haley’s letter. 
Accordingly, on the next day, Col. Tarvin wrote 
the young minister an invitation to visit the Prince- 
ton church at the time suggested, and also to be 
a guest in his home. 

The first great surprise of John Hatton’s life 
was the receipt of Col. Tarvin’s letter. Every other 
good thing that had come to him had always been 
the result of well planned and faithfully executed 
work. He, from very early boyhood, had looked 
forward to the advantages of a collegiate educa- 
tion, always keenly alive to the fact that they would 
be his only by self-denial and ceaseless toil. 
Through the eight years of school life he had not 
been thinking as to where his active ministry might 
begin, or of what position he should occupy. He 
had been content to prepare himself for some use- 
ful place, never worrying about what that place 
should be. A deep student of existing conditions, 
great problems, and the crying needs of human life, 
he had not been anxious about material might, or 
personal preferment. Honor he had not sought, 
and to be thus invited to visit the historic Princeton 
church, with the view of becoming its pastor, was a 
breath-taking surprise. 


12 


THE TRANSITION 


Without hesitation, however, he wrote the fol- 
lowing characteristic note to Col. Tarvin: 

Lebanon, Tenn., June i, 1895. 
Col. W. J. Tarvin, 

Princeton, Ky. 

Dear Sir: Replying to your communication re- 
ceived to-day, I beg to say that you may expect me 
to occupy the Princeton pulpit next Sunday morn- 
ing. Please accept my thanks for the invitation to 
your home, for I shall be very glad to avail myself 
of your hospitality. 

Very respectfully yours, 

John Hatton. 

Meanwhile an announcement had appeared in the 
denominational paper published at Nashville, Tenn., 
to the effect that Dr. Ferguson had resigned the 
Princeton pastorate, and that most likely some mem- 
ber of the Senior Theological class at Lebanon 
would be invited to visit the church with the view of 
becoming pastor. 

A group of students stood on the corner of the 
post-office square in Lebanon, discussing the Prince- 
ton announcement, which had come as a surprise. 
There was some speculation as to who would be 
called to succeed Dr. Ferguson, and several of the 
more pretentious seniors at once assumed an air 
of great importance. There was Finis X. Farrar, 
the most ‘‘cultured” as well as the most “exclusive” 
member of the class, and it was thought by the ma- 

13 


THE TRANSITION 


jority that he, most likely, would be the favored 
one; J. Frank Smithers was the handsomest man 
and the best orator in the class, and some thought 
that he would be the choice of Princeton; and then 
there was Herbert 1. Wicker, decidedly the most 
pious man in the class. Wicker had made the 
best grades in the study of ‘^Miller on Clerical 
Manners,” and had even trained his clerical voice 
down to a degree of perfection which might well 
be the envy of many clergymen of experience. 

Naturally there was much speculation, but as 
yet, no one knew whom the Princeton people had 
under consideration. 

On the Friday morning before Hatton was to go 
to Princeton, Dr. Haley, at the close of the hour 
on Homiletics, called Hatton aside and asked him 
to remain in the classroom a few minutes after the 
others had gone out. In his blunt, frank way, he 
said : 

“Hatton, have you heard anything from Prince- 
ton ?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Hatton. “I had a note from 
a Col. Tarvin. Do you know him?” 

“Yes, I know him — met him at the Kentucky 
Synod. He is a fine man, the leading man in the 
church at Princeton and Chairman of the Official 
Board, I believe. What did he say to you, Hat- 
ton?” 

“Oh, he asked me whether I could go to Prince- 
ton and preach for them next Sunday.” 

14 


THE TRANSITION 


‘^And you are going, I suppose? Do you think 
you could fill the place?” 

don’t know, Doctor, but I could try.” 

‘‘Hatton, I want to ask you one question, and if 
you can answer that, then you can fill the Prince- 
ton pulpit, or any other. Do you know the dif- 
ference between a flagpole and a sapling?” 

Hatton reflected a moment, then replied: “There 
are many differences. Doctor, but to my mind, the 
main one is, a sapling grows — a flagpole does not.” 

“Good, my boy,” exclaimed the gruff Doctor. 
Then in his ruggedly pathetic way he said: 

“Hatton, I want to talk to you a few minutes. I 
recommended you to Princeton. You may not have 
known it, but I have been watching you with very 
great interest since the time you joined the Presby- 
tery. And when I heard your first paper as a pro- 
bationer, I said the day would come when you would 
be heard from. I would not talk thus to you, but 
that the school of hard knocks has developed you 
beyond the point of being spoiled. You have yet 
much to overcome, but you will succeed. I can ap- 
preciate your difficulties, if they really are difficul- 
ties; they may be turned to great advantage, if 
properly used.” 

“I, too, was born in the backwoods. I thought 
my father’s house stood exactly in the middle of the 
world, for in every direction the earth and sky 
seemed to come together, at just the same distance 
from our house. I never wore a pair of shoes until 

15 


THE TRANSITION 


I was twelve years old, and I never saw a railroad 
train until I was twenty, but the Lord has been good 
to me.” 

‘‘You, being naturally endowed with strong physi- 
que, clear brain and stout heart, need have no fears 
as to your success. You will appear awkward 
to the Princeton people, but forget that you have 
hands and feet, and think only of your message. 
Be conservative in your thought, for they are a very 
conservative people. If Dr. Ferguson has any sug- 
gestions to make, hear him kindly. I have selected 
you out of all this class as the man for Princeton. 
Go, now, my boy, and make good. The Lord be 
with you.” 

John Hatton arose ; a tear was in his eye, a tremor 
in his voice, as he extended his hand and said, 
“Thank you. Doctor. Good-by.” 


CHAPTER 11. 


The chivalry of American manhood, the beauty 
and culture of American womanhood, rose to high- 
tide in the southern states, in those golden days 
before the war of the sixties. The splendid aristoc- 
racy of that time and clime was never before 
equaled, has not been, and perhaps never will be sur- 
passed. The real hospitality of the southern people 
in the ante-bellum days has long since become pro- 
verbial, and is no small part of the rich heritage so 
highly prized by worthy descendants of noble sires. 
Family name and family pride counted for every- 
thing, and this just pride, together with large pos- 
sessions in landed estates and slaves, produced a 
distinct type peculiar to that time. Because of these 
conditions, two other types naturally existed; there 
were, then, tliree separate and distinct classes of 
people in the south at this period, viz. : ^^aristocrats,” 
‘‘poor white trash,” and “niggers.” 

The results of the war, with subsequent events, 
have not only changed the social conditions in the 
south, but also the business and commercial life 
of the people. The emancipation of the slaves was 
one of the most tremendous sociological moves ever 
enacted in the history of civilization. The old time 
aristocracy ceased with the abolition of that very 
slavery to which, to a certain degree, it owed its 

17 


THE TRANSITION 


establishment; and the passing of the aristocracy 
obliterated the line of demarcation between it and 
the '‘poor white trash,” bringing all to the same 
level. 

The foregoing observations are made, because the 
two chief figures in our story sprang from those 
once widely separated classes. 

V/ell nigh a half-century has passed since the 
close of the war between the states. Many of the 
sons and daughters of the poorer people of the old 
days have risen to opulence and eminence ; many of 
the sons and daughters of the old aristocracy still 
retain their former prestige, and the commingled 
blood of these two classes has produced a type that, 
for brain, and brawn, and glorious achievement, the 
world had not seen. 

It is blood that counts. Lines of distinction es- 
tablished by the possession or lack of material things 
are unnatural and cannot long remain. 

Our hero and heroine were both descended from 
the Cavaliers. While his father and mother un- 
fortunately, or fortunately, as the case may be, were 
poor in lands, yet no family in the south had finer 
blood coursing through their veins than the Hat- 
tons. A near relative was for years accounted the 
foremost orator, logician and debator in the United 
States Senate. Many of this family were eminent 
in the counsels of their native states, and not a few 
were distinguished in war, one in particular being a 
lieutenant general in the Confederate Army. 
i8 


THE TRANSITION 


The father and immediate family of John Hatton 
were very plain people. An uncle was mortally 
wounded in the battle of Shiloh. John’s father, 
Robert Hatton, enlisted at the first call, and re- 
mained till the end of the war. He surrendered 
with General Joseph E. Johnston and returned, rag- 
ged, worn and weary, but not broken in spirit, to 
the little house among the hills in Middle Tennessee, 
his only material possession being one Mexican dol- 
lar. Soon afterwards he courted and married Sarah 
Rewick, whose family, of Irish descent, had become 
a most substantial factor in the affairs of Sumner 
County. This combination produced an extraordi- 
nary type. Combined with the gravity and conser- 
vatism of the English, was the grit, fire and genius 
of the Irish. Such was the type of John, the second 
child of Robert and Sarah Hatton. There were two 
other children; the oldest a sister who died in the 
beauty and bloom of a life that gave promise of 
great brilliancy and usefulness, and a younger 
brother who chose to be a tiller of the soil, and is 
to-day one of the greatest planters and foremost 
citizens of his county. From boyhood, John in- 
clined toward the more serious things of life. He 
read books, attended debating societies, loved people, 
and worshipped at the shrine of nature. 

No more auspicious place could have been found 
for his birth and early life, than the little home 
among the hills of Sumner County. “Far from the 
madding crowd,” the boy’s early companions were 

19 . 


THE TRANSITION 


sloping hillsides, cool springs flowing out from 
great rocks, the wild bird’s song, the few people who 
knew and loved him, and God, whose omnipresence 
he discovered in every flaming bush and blooming 
flower. 

John Hatton developed rapidly. At fourteen he 
was physically, mentally and spiritually superior to 
the average young man of twenty. A number of 
things conspired to lead him to an early decision as 
to what his life work should be. His father’s house 
was the stopping place for young clergymen who 
came from Lebanon, from time to time, to preach 
at the little country church in which his father was 
an elder. Some of these young men he liked, others 
he detested; the work they were trying to do ap- 
pealed to him. 

One bright morning, with rifle in hand and his 
faithful squirrel dog bounding before him, he went 
up the country road toward the mulberry trees 
where the squirrels fed. Coming into the great 
woods, he stopped to listen for his game, and soon 
became inspired and entranced by the music of the 
forest. He forgot to take aim at the graceful little 
animal in the tree above him; he only heard its 
voice, and beheld its beauty. He stood transfixed. 
The “rustling of the leaves was as the rustling of the 
robes of a great host rising up to praise the Lord;” 
ten thousand woodland echoes were as a great 
chorus lifting an oratorio to the skies. Then all 
seemed calm, and within his soul he heard strange 
20 


THE TRANSITION 


voices calling, calling from afar. He heard the 
voice of the multitudes in the distant cities calling 
for his speech; he beheld the thousands leaning to 
catch his words, and clamoring for his writings. 
He, for the first time, discovered himself, and knew 
that unto a certain end he was born. His was the 
vision splendid. In his imagination the roof-tree 
and rafters of his humble home vanished above him, 
the walls and confines of his boyhood life widened 
into invisible distances, and God whispered to his 
spirit, “the world is your field.” 

The following September John Hatton entered 
preparatory school. It was a long, difficult road be- 
tween the day, when, in deep emotion, Robt. Hat- 
ton bade his son good-by, in front of old Divinity 
Hall, until the graduating day eight years after- 
wards. But John Hatton went at that as he went at 
everything, with no such idea as failure. Success 
might be far away, with many difficulties to be over- 
come; but as to the end, with him, there could be 
no doubt. 

The Tarvins were among the first of the “First 
Families” of Virginia. 

General Charles Tarvin won distinction in the 
Mexican war. After the close of that war, he, with 
his family, removed to western Kentucky, and set- 
tled on a large plantation two miles from the little 
town of Princeton. It was here that Wm. J. Tar- 
vin spent his young manhood. Having graduated 
from a military school in Virginia, he was commis- 
21 


THE TRANSITION 


sioned captain of a company of Confederate soldiers, 
at the beginning of the war and, for ability and 
bravery, he was at different times promoted until 
he arose to the rank of Colonel. Soon after the close 
of the war, Colonel Tarvin married Miss Laura 
Radcliff, only daughter of Thomas Radcliff, a bank- 
er, one of the foremost citizens and the wealthiest 
man in Princeton. Reared in the lap of luxury, 
humored in every whim, educated in the finest 
schools of the land, courted and admired by many 
gallant men, and a wide circle of friends, she in- 
evitably developed into the typical aristocrat; her 
haughty carriage and proud spirit commanded ad- 
miration without warming the heart. She was a 
leader in the church, as well as social circles, but 
her position in both was due to wealth and culture, 
rather than won by sympathy and love. The bluest 
of the blue Presbyterianism was woven into every 
fiber of her being and indelibly stamped upon her 
outward life. Hers was a creed that could never 
need revision. She believed it to the extent that 
where she saw a direct contradiction between her 
creed and plain Scriptures, so much worse for the 
Scriptures. In helping the poor she was generous, 
but dispensed her charities with a formality and 
coldness that fain would imitate the Lady Bountiful. 
But withal, she was easily the leader of Princeton 
society, the dictator to the Princeton church, and the 
most noted belle in western Kentucky. 

Men of wealth and distinction paid her court, and 
22 


THE TRANSITION 


tried to win her hand; none had succeeded. Never 
a flirt, no man ever had an intimation by word, look 
or act that would encourage him to regard her as 
more than a friend. Her idea of virtue and pro- 
priety was as fixed as her religious dogmas. The 
opinion soon prevailed that Laura Radclifi would 
be hard to please, and that, should she marry at all, 
an extraordinary man would have to come upon the 
scene. 

After the war was over, the Federal soldiers re- 
turned to their homes, and amid bonfire and bugle- 
blast, were received as conquering heroes. The 
remnant of those who wore the gray came home 
also, defeated but not conquered; with tears and 
open arms they too were received, and pressed close 
to throbbing hearts of eternal love. 

Out of the company of one hundred and fifty 
that, four years before, had left Princeton with the 
gallant young Capt. Tarvin at their head, only 
forty-seven returned. With them was Col. Tarvin. 

Squire Radcliff’s home occupied a beautiful posi- 
tion on an eminence just outside the corporate lim- 
its of Princeton. The large house and spacious 
grounds were the scenes of many notable social 
functions. At the suggestion of Miss Laura, a re- 
ception was given to the returned soldiers. One 
morning she mounted her fine saddle-horse and rode 
from house to house, extending a public invitation to 
rich and poor alike, to attend the reception at her 
home that evening. 


23 


THE TRANSITION 


The people rejoiced and wept together. The boys 
who came back recounted the story of the long 
marches, the dreadful battles, the heroic bravery of 
their fallen comrades, while fathers, mothers, sisters, 
brothers, and lovers out of whose hearts hope had 
died, listened in silence and in tears. 

After the rest of the company had gone, Laura 
Radcliff and Col. Tarvin sat upon a bench under a 
wide spreading maple tree on the lawn. For awhile 
they were silent, and then the Colonel said: '‘Miss 
Laura, my heart was touched as never before 
as I saw those beautiful girls weeping for the boys 
that fell in battle, and I almost wished that I were 
sleeping beneath the southern cypress, and that one 
of those gallant fellows were here in my place.” 

"Col. Tarvin, were it not better to have rejoicing 
because of your living presence, than to sleep the 
eternal sleep, unmourned in distant lands?” 

"Yes,” replied the Colonel, "if some one in par- 
ticular should rejoice, but I feel that no one does.” 

"Then, sir, your fears are ungrounded,” said she. 

They arose and walked to the front gate. She 
extended her hand, and said, "Col. Tarvin, at this 
gate I bade you good-by four years ago. It was 
decreed that you should return. I can answer your 
question now, and it is ‘yes.’ I said to my heart 
then, if it was foreordained that you should be my 
husband, you would be sent back to me, and you are 
here because it zvas to be.” 

The following spring they were married, and set- 
24 


THE TRANSITION 


tied upon the Tarvin estate, near Princeton. To 
them one child, a daughter, Eleanor, was born. 

Like her mother before her, Eleanor Tarvin was 
reared in luxury. In type- and temperament, how- 
ever, she was entirely different. All the real beauty 
of her mother was reproduced in her, but with it a 
childlike simplicity that was indeed charming. She 
was fearless, frank and free, one of nature’s own 
children. From her father she inherited that un- 
suspecting and generous nature which caused her to 
move among people with ease and confidence, in- 
spiring admiration in all who knew her. Once this 
confidence was abused and the sleeping fires of her. 
nature were aroused, she would maintain her posi- 
tion and defend her rights with the same determi- 
nation and brilliancy that had made her father and 
grandfather famous on the battle field. 

When Eleanor was fourteen, her mother insisted 
upon her joining the church, and at the same time 
endeavored to prevail upon Colonel Tarvin to be- 
come a member. The denomination with its peculiar 
tenets had never appealed to him. His religion, like 
his life, was of a practical turn. In fact, religion 
appealed to him as being necessarily a part of life; 
separated from everyday service to humanity, to 
him it could be but a name and baseless dream. In 
many regards he was not orthodox, and some of his 
habits did not conform always to the church rules. 
He enjoyed his pipe, and at times when old friends 
and comrades were around, a mint julep was not 

25 


THE TRANSITION 


to be refused. But for integrity or character, sym- 
pathy for the suffering, generosity to the needy, and 
self forgetfulness for the comfort of others. Col. 
Tarvin’s fame was sung by all who knew him. 

Seeming to fail in convincing him that he should 
join the church with Eleanor, Mrs. Tarvin invited 
Dr. Ferguson, the minister, to tea one evening, and 
after tea she left the gentlemen alone on the front 
porch. 

Soon the preacher broached the subject by say- 
ing: ^■'Col. Tarvin, next Sabbath is Easter, and it 
happens to be the fourteenth anniversary of your 
daughter’s birth. Mrs. Tarvin feels quite sure that 
Miss Eleanor will unite with the church on that oc- 
casion, and we are hoping that you have considered 
the matter sufficiently to decide to come in with 
her. What do you think of it?” 

“Well, doctor,” said the Colonel, “you have put 
a direct question, and will allow me, no doubt, to 
give you a direct, candid answer.” 

“I am a believer in practical Christianity. I love 
my home, and try to make it happy. I am willing 
for other people to have their opinions even though 
they differ from mine. For this reason, I am a 
liberal supporter of, and a fairly regular attendant 
at church. I regard many things in your confession 
of faith as relics of Paganism, and practically the 
whole system of sectarianism as pseudo Christian- 
ity.” 

“Personally, I should like you very much better 
26 


THE TRANSITION 


were you less clergyman, and more man. I beg you 
not to misunderstand me, for I hold you in high 
esteem, and have great respect for your attainments. 
But if your garb were such as other men wear, and 
you would visit me and talk with me as a man, not 
as a clergyman, you would have much more in- 
fluence with me.” 

“I should like to be in the church and actively en- 
gaged in the work the church is supposed to do, but 
I cannot subscribe to the creed.” 

“Well, Colonel,” replied the doctor, “I fully ap- 
preciate all you have said. Mrs. Tarvin and I have 
talked it all over, and suspecting as much, at her 
suggestion the board of elders have agreed to re- 
ceive you if you will come, upon your own 
terms.” 

“No, I cannot do that. It would be irregular,” 
the Colonel replied; “I know scores of good men 
who 'would join the church, if they could name the 
terms. , If you have a system, stick to it. If the sys- 
tem is faulty, correct it. No, let Eleanor join, but 
ril remain out with the boys, do my best, and try 
to be like Christ, who, I believe they say, ‘went 
about doing good.’ I believe in Him, and with this 
belief I’ll take my chances outside of any religious 
sect.” 

“So will I, papa,” cried a voice from inside the 
parlor door. It was Eleanor who had been attracted 
by the conversation. 

When Dr. Ferguson left and Col. Tarvin called 
27 


THE TRANSITION 


Eleanor to him, and as she sat upon his knee, with 
her arms around his neck, he said : “Daughter, did 
you want to join the church?” 

“Well,” she said, “I thought it would be nice to 
please mamma ; but, father, do you know I have felt 
just as you do about it.” 

Sentiment and love did for him what reason 
would not do, and he said, “My child, I will not 
keep you out of the church; it cannot harm either 
of us. Let us put all the good we can into it. They 
will receive us upon a simple confession of faith in 
Christ, and say nothing about the creed.” 

When Mrs. Tarvin appeared on the scene the 
Colonel said, “Well, Laura, Eleanor and I have de- 
cided to join the church Sunday. What do you 
think of it?” 

In a most stately manner, she replied, “Lm not 
surprised. Colonel, for certainly it was to be.” After 
a pause she added, “Dr. Ferguson is such a grand 
man !” 

Sunday morning Col. Tarvin and Eleanor came 
forward, and after a few well worded and meaning- 
less questions propounded by Dr. Ferguson, on mo- 
tion, and unanimous vote of the session, they were 
received into the membership of the church. There 
was much rejoicing, and many congratulations after 
the benediction. 

Dr. Ferguson felt that he had gained a great vic- 
tory and assumed an air of more than usual im- 


28 


THE TRANSITION 


portance because he had received the most conspic- 
uous man in the community into his church. 

Mrs. Tarvin’s interest in the church was, if pos- 
sible, more marked than ever before, and after a 
year had elapsed she suggested to the official board 
that at the next election of officers the Colonel be 
made an elder; and this met with their approval. 
The Colonel was averse to it, but as he had been 
active in practical charities, having taken the lead 
in all such affairs, he was finally persuaded to ac- 
cept the office with the understanding that he did 
not accept the creed, and need not officiate as elder. 
He was soon made chairman of the general official 
board, and by virtue of his position and influence, 
was the dominating force in the general affairs of 
the church. Mrs. Tarvin was ever ready with 
suggestions and advice, and through the Colonel, 
practically dictated the policy of the congrega- 
tion. 

Eleanor went from the Princeton High School to 
Vassar, from which she was graduated with high 
honors. She spent one year in musical and art 
studies in Boston and New York and returned to 
Princeton the most beautiful, charming, and thor- 
oughly accomplished young lady that community 
had ever seen. She was an artist of no mean abil- 
ity, but music was her passion. In anticipation of 
her homecoming, the church at Princeton had in- 
stalled a new pipe organ at a cost of seven thousand 
dollars, something before unthought of in the 
29 


THE TRANSITION 


smaller towns of Kentucky. She loved the church, 
but she loved the organ more. Every evening she 
rehearsed a chorus of young men and women, and 
prepared a special program for that Sunday, when 
a young man from Cumberland University, named 
John Hatton, was to occupy the pulpit. 


30 


CHAPTER III. 


At the breakfast table Saturday morning, Col. 
Tarvin suggested that as he would be engaged in the 
afternoon, either Mrs. Tarvin or Eleanor should 
drive to town and meet Mr. Hatton. Accordingly, 
Uncle Stephen, who had been a slave in the Tarvin 
family, and a body servant to the Colonel all through 
the war, and who still remained faithful to his mas- 
ter, was ordered to, have the carriage ready at two 
o’clock. Mrs. Tarvin having callers, Miss Eleanor 
went alone to the station, Stephen driving. 

The train arrived on time, and on the platform 
to meet John Hatton were Dr. Ferguson and several 
members of the church. Some girls and young 
ladies who had ‘‘happened” to pass that way, had 
stopped at the depot to get a look at the new 
preacher, as they knew he was not a married man. 

Dr. Ferguson met John as he stepped from the 
train, and received him in a courteous, but rather 
formal manner. He was introduced to the brethren 
present, and informed that Col. Tarvin’s carriage 
was in waiting. Miss Eleanor had remained in the 
carriage, but as Dr. Ferguson and John Hatton 
approached, she gracefully alighted and bade him 
welcome. 


31 


THE TRANSITION 


John Hatton, when unconscious of himself, was 
an attractive personality. But in his long struggle 
against many disadvantages, he had had neither 
the time nor the inclination to cultivate personal 
appearance, or to polish his manners. On being 
presented to Miss Tarvin, John Hatton was thor- 
oughly conscious of himself. His hands seemed the 
size of hams, and his feet were in his way to such 
an extent that in getting into the carriage, he 
stumbled and almost fell. Miss Tarvin realized his 
embarrassment and adroitly set herself to relieve the 
situation. As they drove away, the girls who were 
watching from the station platform giggled, while 
Mattie Gray remarked, “There’s no chance for us, 
girls, so long as Eleanor Tarvin has him in charge. 
He seems awfully awkward, and embarrassed, but 
she will make him forget it, and he will fall in love 
with her before they get home.” 

“I wonder whether he will be at choir rehearsal 
this evening?” queried Sallie Brown. 

“It would be just like her to bring him,” re- 
marked Lula Clark, “and if she does, I intend to 
have sore throat and will not sing, so I can talk 
to him while the rest of you are rehearsing.” 

“Yes, he will be there sure,” joined in Lena Mor- 
row, “for he isn’t dandy enough to please Mrs. Tar- 
vin, and the Colonel has an engagement down town 
to-night with brother Emmet, and you know Elean- 
or, the good thing, won’t leave him with her 
haughty old mother.” 


32 


THE TRANSITION 


“You’ll all be there, anyhow, won’t you, girls?” 
said Mrs. Marfield, who also “happened” to be at 
the station and who walked down the street with 
them. 

As John and Eleanor drove on they were con- 
scious of being observed and remarked upon, and 
they felt relieved as the spirited team turned into 
the country road. 

John Hatton was strangely confused. His tongue 
was thick, and only the most commonplace things, 
in the most bungling way, escaped his lips. He was 
elated and depressed, confident and timid by turns. 

Many emotions were stirred within the throbbing 
heart and reeling brain of John Hatton ere Stephen 
stopped the carriage in front of the Tarvin mansion. 

Miss Tarvin stepped from the carriage, John Hat- 
ton followed, while Uncle Stephen brought up the 
rear with the preacher’s grip. 

Miss Eleanor, if possible, was more charming 
and gracious than before, as she said : “Mr. Hatton, 
will you come into the parlor, please, and meet 
mother ? Stephen will carry your grip to your room ; 
remember, you must make yourself at home.” 

“Thank you,” was all he could say. 

As they approached the parlor door Mrs. Tarvin 
stepped out and met them in the hall. 

“Mother, dear, this is Mr. Hatton.” 

Mrs. Tarvin was chillingly polite. “How do you 
do, Mr. Hatton,” she said. 

Poor Hatton, more confused than ever, shook 

33 


THE TRANSITION 


hands with Miss Eleanor, and struck Mrs. Tarvin 
in the waist with his hat. Dropping his hat upon 
the floor, he stooped to pick it up, and in so doing, 
upset a vase of flowers. The water poured over 
the floor, sadly wetting his offending headgear. He 
stood trembling, almost speechless, and mumbled, 
“Please excuse me.” 

“Oh, that is all right, Mr. Hatton,” said Eleanor, 
encouragingly, “accidents will happen, you know.” 

Mrs. Tarvin stood in amazement, carefully scrut- 
inizing him from foot to head. Then turning, she 
said, “will you walk into the parlor and be seated ?” 

Sitting down, she addressed a few formal re- 
marks to him, to which he could reply only in awk- 
ward negatives and affirmatives. 

Miss Eleanor asked if he would like a drink of 
water, and he replied, “no, thank you, I never drink 
water.” 

Finally, after a conversation that consisted for 
the most part of banal commonplaces and desperate 
pauses, Miss Eleanor suggested that he go to his 
room and rest awhile. 

“Thank you,” he said, and Eleanor called 
Stephen, who showed him upstairs. 

When within, and the door closed behind him, he 
dropped into a chair. Cold perspiration stood upon 
his brow, and for once in life he felt entirely alone, 
utterly helpless, and completely undone. For once 
he was disgusted with himself, and had no con- 
fidence in the future. Fate had led him across the 
34 


THE TRANSITION 


borderline, out of the world in which he had lived, 
into a realm where he did not belong. At length, 
he began to think what he should do. That he could 
appear again in the family circle of the Tarvin 
home, and redeem himself from the blunders he had 
made, seemed impossible, and the idea of his appear- 
ing in the aristocratic Princeton pulpit the next day 
was utterly unthinkable. Should he take his grip 
and run down the steps and dash out of the door, 
never again to appear as- a preacher? Then he 
breathed a prayer to the God who had never for- 
saken him, and thought of his little home in the hills 
of Tennessee, and the great tears rolled down his 
cheeks. 

While thus thinking his attention was arrested by 
strains of music. Eleanor was at the piano. After 
a harmonious, minor prelude, she sang, and her 
singing was soft and sweet and as soothing as a 
mother’s lullaby. 

dry those tears 
And calm those fears. 

Life is not made for sorrow; 

^ Twill come, alas! 

But soon 'twill pass, 

Clouds will he sunshine to-morrowT 

*^Oh, lift thine eyes. 

To the blue skies. 

See how the clouds do borrow 

35 


THE TRANSITION 


Brightness^ each one, 

Straight from the sun; 

So it is with sorrow. 

^ Twill come, alas! 

But soon Twill pass, 

Clouds will he sunshine to-morrow.** 

Why did she sing it ? Perhaps it was to be. As 
she sang, all fear left him. He forgot that he had 
ever appeared awkward, or made a blunder ; he felt 
equal to any task. She continued playing, occa- 
sionally singing a line from some sweet old air. The 
music quieted his overwrought nerves and he fell 
into a peaceful sleep, where fairy fingers pictured 
his dreams. 

‘'Oh! Oh! Eleanor, what does this mean! What 
shall we do! Oh! what a man to send here to 
preach in the Princeton pulpit! What does Mr. 
Haley mean by sending such a man here. He will 
certainly embarrass us all to-morrow. Did you ever 
see such rudeness, and did you ever dream of such 
an uncultivated man going out as a minister?” 

Thus spoke Mrs. Tarvin after John Hatton had 
gone to his room. 

“Oh, mamma, let us wait and see. We can’t tell 
yet. Maybe he will be all right. According to 
your doctrine if it was to be, he will be all right.” 

But Mrs. Tarvin was taken with a violent head- 
ache and retired, saying she would not be down 
to supper. 


36 


THE TRANSITION 


A knock on the door aroused John Hatton from 
his restful slumber; he arose and opened the door. 

It was Stephen, who said: “Miss Ellie say you 
may come down to supper in a few minutes. De 
Gunnel he done come, and supper is ready.” 

Miss Eleanor and Col. Tarvin met him at the 
dining-room door. Without the formality of an 
introduction, the Colonel grasped his hand and said, 
“Glad to see you, Brother Hatton. Walk right in 
and have a seat, sir, and let’s have something to eat. 
I’m powerful hungry myself, and hope you are, too. 
I didn’t have any dinner to-day — was too busy to 
eat, but think I’ll make up for it now.” 

The Colonel was so informal and easy. Miss 
Eleanor so perfectly charming and Aunt Eliza, 
Stephen’s wife, so handy in waiting upon the table, 
that John Hatton really enjoyed the meal. 

Col. Tarvin soon learned by adept questioning, 
that John Hatton was a blood relative of Gen. A. P. 
Hatton, also of Senator Benjamin F. Hatton of 
Georgia; and John Hatton had a fixed place in his 
affection from that moment. 

After cigars on the front porch, Hatton partici- 
pating much to the Colonel’s delight. Miss Eleanor 
suggested that Mr. Hatton accompany her to the 
church for choir rehearsal, as her mother was indis- 
posed and her father had a business engagement. 

In the evening twilight, they started for Prince- 
ton, and the Colonel told of Gen. Hatton’s fall at 


3Z 


THE TRANSITION 


Gettysburg, and how he caught him in his own arms 
and bore him from the field. 

“Well, this is the church,'’ said the Colonel, as 
the carriage stopped in front of an imposing old 
structure. 

“You two can get out and we’ll drive by for you 
at half after nine. Good-by, sweetheart.” 

“Good-by, Dad,” said Eleanor, throwing him a 
kiss as they ascended the steps of the church. 

In Princeton there was an unusual amount of 
more than ordinary musical talent, and Miss Tarvin 
had succeeded in getting together a double quartette 
of splendid voices, most of whom had had some 
vocal training. 

The choir members were all present when Eleanor 
Tarvin and John Hatton entered the church on Sat- 
urday evening, as were also a number of young peo- 
ple and several young married women. Miss Tar- 
vin introduced the preacher and, after a little pleas- 
ant talk, asked the choir to assemble for rehearsal. 

John Hatton took a seat in the rear of the church. 
The first practice was a solo, “Fear not ye, O Is- 
rael,” sung in a rich, deep, full contralto voice. 

Next, they rehearsed Gounod’s anthem, “Hark, 
hark my soul!” Hatton had never heard it before. 
The words and the music interpreted his own feel- 
ings, and the peace that passeth understanding pos- 
sessed his soul as the last strain had died away, 
while with closed eyelids, aud lost in reverie, his 
soul echoed and re-echoed the lines: 

38 


THE TRANSITION 


''Angels, sing on, your faithful watches keeping. 
Sing us sweet fragments of the song above. 

Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping, 
And life's long shadows break in cloudless love." 

During the singing, Mesdames Hall and Thomas 
came into the church. Mrs. Hall was the wife of 
one of the elders, and Mrs. Thomas’ husband was 
an ex-preacher and retired physician who had seen 
active service in both professions, but had not been 
an eminent success in either. 

“Aunt Lizzie,” as Mrs. Thomas was called, made 
it a point to see every new preacher who came to 
Princeton, at the earliest possible convenience. It 
was incumbent upon her, she thought, to give him 
a full history of “Doctor,” as she proudly called her 
husband, and to impress upon the stranger the im- 
portance of the doctor’s position in the community 
and in the church. In common with Mrs. Hall, who 
accompanied her, she was full of curiosity, and was 
always looking upon others with an evil and suspi- 
cious eye. They both desired to look upon the 
young man and “size him up,” that they might 
take to their indisposed husbands some estimate of 
the man who was to appear in the pulpit next day. 
Accordingly, having learned that the preacher was 
in the church, these two “guardian angels” of the 
faith, went in, and after listening to the music a 
few minutes, went around to where John Hatton 
was sitting. Mrs. Hall, with characteristic attempt 
39 


THE TRANS I TI ON 


at appearing very pious, extended her hand and with 
tremulous voice said, “And is this Brother Hatton?” 

“Yes, my name is Hatton,” he politely replied. 

“Well, I’m Sister Hall, and this is Sister Thomas, 
Brother Hatton.” 

“Glad to meet both of you,” said Hatton. “Will 
you be seated?” 

“Yes, just a few minutes. We happened to be 
passing this way and heard the music, so we thought 
we’d drop in and listen to it awhile. Don’t you 
think it is grand?” 

“Very fine indeed,” said the preacher. 

“Don’t you think Miss Tarvin is very beautiful?” 
asked Mrs. Hall. 

Reddening a little, he said, “she appears to be a 
very accomplished young lady.” 

“How do you like Mrs. Barton’s voice?” asked 
Mrs. Thomas. 

“I think she sings very well,” he said, as he no- 
ticed the women glance significantly at each other. 

“She is a stranger here,” remarked Mrs. Hall, but 
so far as we know, she is a very nice woman. She 
is a vocal teacher and her husband is in the car- 
riage business. Princeton people, you know, are 
slow to take up strangers. But if she joins our 
church, she can soon get a start in her work.” 

As these women proceeded to enlighten him upon 
different topics, especially the place and importance 
of their respective husbands and families in the past 
history of the church and community, John Hat- 
40 


THE TRANSITION 


ton, convinced that the least said to them was best, 
answered only their leading questions, and was as 
courteously silent as possible. 

They went away as the choir was coming down 
from the platform. 

“What do you think of him?” asked Mrs. Thomas 
of her companion. 

“Can’t tell yet,” answered Mrs. Hall, “but he will 
bear watching. I noticed that while we were talk- 
ing to him, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of that 
Miss Tarvin.” 

When Uncle Stephen appeared at the church 
door, the singers were standing around Miss Tar- 
vin and John Hatton, all talking pleasantly. 

“Mr. Hatton,” said Eleanor, “I think the carriage 
is awaiting us. Good night all. Will see you to- 
morrow.” 

The preacher said good night, and walked out of 
the church with her. The talk while driving home 
was mostly about the music. Miss Tarvin seeming 
very anxious that all should go well the following 
day. 

It was half past ten when John Hatton retired 
to his room. It had been an eventful day, but his 
great anxiety was for the morrow. He felt that his 
hour was close at hand. 


:4i 


CHAPTER IV. 


Mrs. Tarvin did not appear at breakfast Sunday 
morning. Miss Eleanor explained that her mother 
was still indisposed, and feared she would not be 
able to attend church, but that if she felt better she 
w^ould probably be there for the sermon. 

John Hatton felt relieved at the thought of not 
seeing her again, and secretly hoped that she would 
not be at church. 

The Colonel was in a talkative mood, but the 
preacher seemed uninterested in what was being 
said; at times he failed to heed remarks addressed 
directly to him. He ate in a mechanical way, ap- 
parently unconscious of what he was doing. 

They did not know, but his sub-conscious mind 
was in action, and to all objective things he was 
completely oblivious. He was thinking of his ser- 
mon, marshaling his array of argument and elo- 
quence, poetry and pathos, and drilling them into 
homiletic order. 

He did not care to attend Sunday school, and 
asked to be excused from meeting anyone before 
church. 

Five minutes before time for worship. Miss Tar- 
vin handed him the program for the day, asking 
him to follow the same. Just at that time Dr. Fer- 
42 


THE TRANSITION 


guson entered the church and his greeting of the 
young preacher was, as it had been at the depot the 
day before, courteous, but formal. 

“Dr. Ferguson, you will conduct the services, of 
course?” said Hatton. 

“No,” replied the doctor, “I think it better that 
you take entire charge; the congregation will want 
to see your methods. I will announce the first 
hymn and introduce you, and then you can proceed.” 

At that moment Miss Tarvin began the volun- 
tary, Handel’s “Largo.” Words cannot describe 
the simple, but stately and majestic tempo of this, 
one of the sublimest pieces ever played upon an 
organ. The audience sat in almost breathless at- 
tention. John Hatton was lost in reverie, and deep 
emotion stirred within him. 

The organ gave out “Old Hundred” and the 
audience rose and sang the Doxology. Dr. Fergu- 
son made a short invocation and announced Hymn 
No. 325, “I Love Thy Kingdom, Lord.” With this 
the choir arose and sang the hymn announced, the 
congregation joining. Then Dr. Ferguson said: 
“It gives me great pleasure to announce that we 
have with us this morning the Rev. John Hatton, 
a member of Lebanon presbytery, and also of the 
graduating class of the Seminary. Brother Hatton 
comes well recommended, and for the purpose of 
getting acquainted with the view of becoming pas- 
tor of this congregation. He will conduct the ser- 
vices, and preach for us to-day.” 

43 


THE TRANSITION 


John Hatton could but feel that Dr. Ferguson’s 
treatment of him was not just fair. It was evident 
that the doctor wanted to put him on his mettle, 
and embarrass him if possible. 

At the close of the hymn the young man arose, 
and in an unnatural voice that could not be heard in 
the rear of the church, said, “the Scripture lesson for 
the morning is taken from the eighth chapter of 
the gospel as written by John, beginning with the 
twelfth and ending with the thirty-second verse.” 
He read the lesson without lifting his eyes from the 
Bible. His articulation was bad; at times his voice 
quivered and almost broke. On finishing he hesi- 
tated, then walked awkwardly, half-sidewise, half- 
backward and dropped into the chair. Everybody 
looked at him, and there was a painful pause in the 
proceedings, which, to Eleanor Tarvin, seemed an 
age. 

Just at this moment Mrs. Tarvin entered the 
church, and walked down the main aisle, attracting 
everybody’s attention. Dr. Ferguson stepped upon 
the platform and whispered to the preacher. Then, 
his face flushed with embarrassment, Hatton arose 
and announced the next hymn. 

After this he gave attention to the program Miss 
Tarvin had given him, and at the close of the 
hymn led in a simple but touching prayer. A solo 
came next, during which the offering was taken. 
Then came the anthem, after which the preacher 
arose to deliver the sermon. 

44 


THE TRANSITION 


During the singing of the solo and anthem, he 
had time to partially recover from his embarrass- 
ment, but it was with no great confidence that he 
undertook the task before him. 

“My text is from John, the eighth chapter 
and the thirty-second verse : 'Ye shall know the 
truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ My theme 
is 'Freedom by the truth.’ ” He hesitated and 
cleared his throat. He stood awkwardly, with his 
left hand behind his back, and his right hand hold- 
ing the lapel of his coat. At first his face flushed, 
but in a moment he turned pale as a corpse. Painful 
anxiety was written on every face in the audience 
except that of Dr. Ferguson, who sat stern and 
erect, expecting every moment that the young man 
would fail, that he would have to take the pulpit, 
having let the congregation see the folly of putting 
a young man in so important a place. 

All this occured in much less time than is required 
to tell it. It seemed to Hatton that doom stared 
him in the face. A majority of the people could no 
longer look at him. Col. Tarvin’s eyes were fixed 
upon the floor. Perhaps five minutes had passed 
since he had said, “and my theme is freedom by the 
truth.” During that time he had been saying some 
incoherent things, he knew not what — neither did 
his audience know, for they were in too great sym- 
pathy with his distress to heed what he said. 

Then he caught the anxious look of Eleanor, and 
in her sweet face read her feelings; it was all en- 
45 


THE TRANSITION 


couragement. She had seen him in a different light. 
She had that fine faculty of keen perception which 
enabled her to read character and estimate power. 
To herself she said, surely it is only because of his 
natural modesty and the utter absence of egotism 
that this foolish fear has seized upon him. 

He caught the inspiration from her, and from 
that moment he was free. He was master of him- 
self. 

“ 'You might as well shoot some people with a 
bullet as with a new idea, for they both seem to take 
their breath away,’ but it is in this way that the 
world fights its way forward. It is over slain bodies 
and slain opinions that humanity makes progress.” 

Col. Tarvin looked up, Mrs. Tarvin was aston- 
ished, Dr. Ferguson was puzzled and disappointed, 
and Eleanor’s heart was bounding with joy. The 
audience drew a deep breath of relief upon looking 
up, when they saw, as it were, another man in the 
pulpit. 

He was as composed as he had been disconcerted 
and abashed. Looking Dr. Ferguson squarely in 
the face, as though talking to him personally, he 
said, "the doctors of theology have often boasted 
that Christianity is the mother of freedom, but it 
is not true.” Dr. Ferguson turned pale as Hatton 
gracefully lifted his hand, continuing, "When God 
breathed into man the breath of life, he placed there 
the eternal quest of liberty. All life desires to be 
free; we see it in the tender plant pressing its way 
46 


THE TRANSITION 


through the crevice between the rocks ; we see it in 
the bird beating its frail body against the walls of 
its prison cage. We see it in the protest of the 
spirit of man against the rule of the despot within 
and without. Freedom and the love of it are co- 
existent with God.” 

Breathless silence prevailed, and the hearts of the 
thoughtful beat in. astonishment when the preacher 
said, “J^sus Christ was an iconoclast, and came 
striking to the right and left, demolishing systems, 
doing away with people’s most cherished beliefs and 
prejudices. He was continually saying new things, 
setting the truth in new light. He spoke not by pre- 
scriptive right as did the Scribes and Pharisees, 
but taught as one having authority. No wonder 
they were astonished at His teaching. Among the 
new things He uttered, were the words of my text, 
*ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make 
you free.’ While there was nothing new in the idea 
of liberty, it was entirely new that it should come to 
man through the truth. For thousands of years 
humanity has been in bondage of mind, soul and 
body. Liberty had been sought, but not found, 
through all the ages of groping in the world’s dark 
night. Christ said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth, and 
the Light.’ He said, 'ye shall know the truth, and 
the truth shall make you free,’ which is but one 
way of saying ye shall know me, and I shall make 
you free. All other teachers had taught about a 
system, and set forth principles external to them- 
47 


THE TRANSITION 


selves. Christ not only taught, but was, and is the 
truth, the great mission of which is to give freedom 
to the sons of men.” 

Ollie Jamison and Ward Hepburn, much to 
everybody’s surprise, walked into the church and 
took a seat in the rear, just as John Hatton recov- 
ered from his embarrassment. They were there, 
because on Saturday afternoon Eleanor Tarvin had 
invited them to come, saying there would be a new 
preacher in the pulpit. Hepburn and Jamison were 
the leading young lawyers, not only of Princeton, 
but of Western Kentucky. Hepburn was reserved, 
cold, analytical, brilliant, but true as steel when his 
esteem and confidence were won. Jamison was 
jovial, sanguine, warmhearted and eloquent. 

Neither of these gentlemen at that time made any 
pretentions to religion. They rarely attended 
church, and held the average preacher in contempt. 
They were attracted to John Hatton, who spoke 
with the plain directness of a lawyer, pleading be- 
fore the bar of justice. Jamison whispered to Hep- 
burn, ‘That’s a smart fellow.” 

“By the eternal, it’s a fact,” said Hepburn. 

While others in his class made better grades in 
Greek and Hebrew, while others knew more dead 
statistics and barren facts of history, yet, in Homil- 
etics, John Hatton was head and shoulders above 
them all. He had the natural gift of grasping, 
analyzing and presenting facts, in logical order and 


48 


THE TRANSITION 


in unanswerable argument, but withal, in so simple 
a style that all could understand. 

Before him on the pulpit was a sheet of note 
paper, on which was a brief outline. He did not 
noticeably refer to it more than twice during his dis- 
course. 

After the introductory remarks referred to, the 
preacher continued : “And now, in view of what I 
have said, I have three fundamental remarks to 
make, and they are these : Civil or political freedom 
comes by the truth, religious liberty comes by the 
truth, and personal freedom comes by the truth/^ 

Then launching into the grandeur of his theme, 
he spoke for thirty minutes, while his audience sat 
as under some strange spell. Judged from the or- 
dinary standards of preaching, his sermon was most 
remarkable because of the conspicuous absence of so 
many things common to the average pulpit dis- 
course. It was strange to a Princeton audience to 
note the absence of the manuscript, as for twenty 
years Dr. Ferguson had never preached without one. 

John Hatton was not like a preacher, in appear-^ 
ance or voice. He used in the most natural way, 
the voice God had given him. His subject matter 
for the most part was different from others, be- 
cause of the absence of hackneyed theological terms. 
His was the language of the people, in classic sim- 
plicity, at times rising to heights of real eloquence. 
There were no set phrases or perfunctory passages. 
Dead heart earnestness marked every word. 

49 


THE TRANSITION 


Ollie Jamison whispered to Hepburn, '‘that fel- 
low is all right, for he means what he says.” 

"He is not preaching,” said Hepburn, "he is tell- 
ing the truth.” 

In discussing the point of political freedom com- 
ing by the truth, he showed that it has never been 
by forms of government or force of arms that true 
liberty has been won, but by divine ideas of right- 
eousness, justice, and truth that nations have been 
blessed and have risen to sublimest heights. He 
applied the principles to the national life of the 
Jews, to whom Christ was speaking, showing that 
as a nation, they failed, and without a land or a 
home have wandered footsore and weary upon the 
face of the earth, all because they would not listen 
to, and understand, the meaning of Christ’s words. 
At the close of this period, he said, "and how often 
are we reminded of Byron’s song: 

'Oh weep for them that wept by BabeFs stream, 
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream — 
Weep for the harp of Jnda’s broken shell. 

Mourn — Where their God hath dwelt, the godless 
dwell — 

Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast. 
How shall you flee away and be at rest? 

The wild-dove hath its nest, the fox his cave. 
Mankind their country, — Israel the grave/ ” 

It was in the second section of the sermon, how- 
ever, that a sensation was produced, not because the 

50 


THE TRANSITION 


people did not believe what he said, for it was self 
evident. His method of argument and manner of 
presentation scarcely allowed the listener any ground 
for disagreement, but left him astonished at his 
boldness in presenting facts so widely different 
from commonplace theological dogmas. 

''Let iis think for awhile about religious liberty 
coming by the truth. The religion of Christ is the 
great life-giving principle which alone can set man 
free. The supreme mission of the Saviour was that 
of a liberator. The great mission of the church of 
Christ, then, is to carry on His work of liberating 
the minds, hearts and lives, of men and women 
under the bondage of ignorance, superstitution and 
sin. But alas! how has the mission of the church 
been perverted! It has become the conservator of 
doctrines at utter variance with the mind of the 
Master. The so-called House of God has come to 
welcome only the select few. Behold the masses, 
many of whom have fallen into the depths of des- 
pair — the besotted man, the outcast woman, the 
poor, and the ignorant ! Oh, how should they flock 
to the house of God, and with all true worshippers 
claim the right of saying, ^Our Father who art in 
heaven!’ In the average church, they find no wel- 
come. You say they are unfit. Did not sinful women 
follow Christ, eager to touch the hem of His gar- 
ment, and did not the common people hear Him 
gladly?” 

Continuing, he said, “another sad feature of the 

51 


THE TRANSITION 


religious denominations of to-day is that instead of 
going forth in untrammeled quest of truth which 
alone can bring liberty to, and unity out of the di- 
vided forces of Christendom, they are to a great de- 
gree harbingers of long-standing error, which can 
never again appeal to the intelligence of men/’ 

‘‘Never heard it that way before, but it’s God’s 
truth,” said Hepburn. 

The preacher went on, saying, “Christ said, ‘when 
He, the spirit of truth is come. He will lead you 
into all truth.’ All truth is a unit, and is as eternal 
and omnipresent as God. The real fact is, the truth 
is seeking men, and becomes effective only when in- 
carnated in a life. This is supremely exemplified in 
the redemptive power of God’s love incarnated in 
the Man of Galilee. Let us be freed from error, let 
us be receptive to the truth! Unless the theological 
seminaries learn this lesson, the day is not far dis- 
tant when the teachers of the creeds men have made 
in the days gone by will no longer have pupils to 
teach. And unless the ministers of the Gospel lay 
aside their musty manuscripts, and get away from 
the old paths and old shoes of effete doctrines, they 
will no longer have listeners to hear discourses which 
can never be a message to the heart. Men and 
women to-day want light, salvation, truth! These 
can only be found in Christ. The trend of the 
thought and life of to-day is back to Christ !” 

This was said with such earnestness that the audi- 
ence was electrified. Dr. Ferguson sat pale and 

52 


THE TRANSITION 


still. He saw himself defeated and utterly routed 
by the young man whom he had secretly sought tn 
embarrass. His clock had run down, his day had 
past, his grip upon the Princeton people had slack- 
ened forever. Mrs. Tarv^n was perturbed beyond 
measure; never before in her life had she heard any- 
thing like this. Her cherished prejudices had been 
assailed. She felt that the Princeton pulpit had 
been outraged, and vowed to herself that John Hat- 
ton should never speak there again. 

The young man drew a deep breath, and said, 
'‘Finally, my friends, will you consider, that, per- 
sonal freedom comes only by the truth. He who 
is true, is free. These limbs may be bound in fet- 
ters, this body may be incarcerated within prison 
walls, but the spirit, the real self, may be freer than 
the bird on the wing, and may hie itself away 
among the distant stars. In the jail at Bedford, 
Bunyan sang divinely; with blind eyes Milton saw 
the glories of Paradise, lost and regained. The 
truth in Christ sets us free, free from the harm and 
danger of the world without, and free from our own 
selfish natures within. But you say T am free.’ If 
so, then why the continued struggle and quest of 
your life? Are you not restless and ill at ease? 
Are you not always seeking something? Are you 
not trying to get away from your troubles, burden, 
pains and sorrows ? It is but the unconscious 
effort of your being to get away from yourself. 
This is what Christ meant when He said, ‘He that 
53 


THE TRANSITION 


loseth his life for my sake shall find it.’ The truth 
frees us from self, causes us to render unselfish ser- 
vice to others, and discovers to us the eternal king- 
dom of Christ, which is among us.” 

Here the preacher stopped and announced the 
hymn, which was strangely appropriate, the first 
stanza being, 

‘'Buried in bondage and sin. 

At death's dark door we lay, 

But we arise by grace divine 
T 0 see a glorious day.” 

There was a general changing of position. For 
thirty minutes there had not been a stir, and at 
pauses in the address, one could distinctly hear the 
ticking of the clock. No such effect had ever be- 
fore been produced upon a Princeton audience. The 
congregation sang with feeling, and Eleanor Tar- 
vin’s eyes were blinded with tears when her fingers 
pressed the keys for the last Amen ! 

John Hatton pronounced the benediction; a new 
order of service, not held, but rendered, had taken 
place in the Princeton church. 


54 


CHAPTER V. 


After the benediction, the organist played a short 
postlude, an improvisation of her own. 

John Hatton was perfectly composed as he 
stepped down from the pulpit. Dr. Ferguson was 
disconcerted, not knowing which way to turn for 
sympathy. Mrs. Tarvin, without noticing anyone, 
approached Dr. Ferguson, extending her nervous 
hand, and with tremulous voice said: '‘Doctor, you 
must go with us to lunch to-day. Something must 
be done at once.” 

The doctor, in an undertone, asked whether Mr. 
Hatton would be there also, to which she replied: 
“No, he has his grip with him, and will lunch at the 
hotel, as he must leave Princeton on the afternoon 
train. We shall be perfectly free to talk, and must 
win Colonel Tarvin and Eleanor away from this 
young heretic at once.” 

Meanwhile Colonel Tarvin was talking to the 
young preacher. He frankly said that never before 
had he heard anything like the sermon of the morn- 
ing — it was new, and strange, and every word had 
appealed to him, the truthfulness of his statements 
being self-evident. 

By this time, Eleanor had joined them. Many 
eyes were turned toward the little group, for the 
55 


THE TRANSITION 


unheard of had happened. Not only had OHie 
Jamison and Ward Hepburn come to church, but 
they actually came front after the benediction, to 
meet the preacher. They had joined Miss Tarvin 
while the Colonel was talking; she greeted them 
kindly, saying how pleased she was to see them 
there. 

Mr. Jamison asked her whether the preacher was 
going to her home for lunch, and she told them that 
she understood he was to go to the hotel, and would 
leave on the afternoon train. She could not sup- 
press her glad astonishment when Mr. Hepburn 
said : ‘‘That suits us, for we want to meet him and 
have' him lunch with us. He is the one and only 
preacher we have ever heard who interested us in 
the least. He is a great man. We want to talk 
with him, and if possible, save him from the fatal 
mistake of hiding his powers under the ministerial 
garb. He ought to be a lawyer, and a statesman. 
The ministry offers nothing to a man of his ability. 
Will you kindly introduce us?” 

By this time many people had come up to meet 
the preacher. 

“Oh, Mr. Hepburn, do not say that,” said Elean- 
or. “Please let me speak with you gentlemen before 
you meet Mr. Hatton.” 

“Pm so pleased,” she went on, “that you liked the 
preacher and the sermon.” 

“Like him,” said Mr. Jamison, “that’s putting it 
mildly. It was nothing short of marvelous from 

56 


THE TRANSITION 


beginning to end. Such perfect composure, and 
mastery of his subject, I have never seen before.” 

“He could make any jury do his bidding,” said 
Ward Hepburn. 

“Then you were not here when he read the text, 
were you?” asked Miss Tarvin. 

“Oh, no, he was just getting started when we 
came in,” they replied. 

“Then Fm so glad!” she said. “But this is what 
I want to say,” she continued, “please promise me 
that you will not try to discourage him from preach- 
ing. The church must have such preachers, or fail. 
It is a divine institution, but has so long been under 
the thraldom of incompetency and superstition, has 
been under the leadership of men who do not 
think, being slaves to fixed opinions and inherited 
doctrines, that both church and preachers have 
largely lost their influence in the world. I wish 
both of you were Christians, for then you would 
believe that God is raising up such men as Mr. 
Hatton, to save the church and the truth from utter 
defeat. Won’t you promise me not to try to con- 
vince him that his work lies in other fields? I 
know you are both strong in argument and influ- 
ence. I see they are about to go — promise me, and 
I’ll introduce you I” 

Mr. Jamison said : “It shall be as you wish. Miss 
Tarvin, but let us have the pleasure of his com- 
pany, anyhow. He is not a man to be easily in- 
fluenced; he has a mind of his own.” 

57 


THE TRANSITION 


''All right,” she replied, and then 

"Mr. Hatton, wait a moment, please. Here are 
two gentlemen who wish to meet you — Mr. Jamison 
and Mr. Hepburn.” 

The gentlemen shook hands cordially. John Hat- 
ton graciously accepted their invitation, and said 
good-by to the Colonel and Miss Eleanor. 

At the breaking up of the little group Colonel 
Tarvin and his daughter walked down one aisle, 
and the two young lawyers with the preacher 
walked down the other. 

Mrs. Tarvin and Dr. Ferguson were waiting by 
the carriage when Eleanor approached her mother, 
saying: "Mama, aren’t you going to say good-by 
to Mr. Hatton? He is leaving on the afternoon 
train, you know.” 

Dr. Ferguson, who was about entering the car- 
riage, felt the rebuke of the young lady’s remarks 
to her mother, and with some embarrassment said : 
"That is true — let us speak to him.” 

Hepburn, Jamison and Hatton were descending 
the steps of the church as Dr. Ferguson and Mrs. 
Tarvin approached them. 

The doctor said : "I suppose you will return to 
Lebanon this afternoon, Brother Hatton? Mrs. 
Tarvin and I wish to say good-by. Please give my 
regards to Dr. Haley when you see him,” extend- 
ing his hand. 

"Good-by,” returned John Hatton most deliber- 

S8 


THE TRANSITION 


ately, adding, shall be pleased to bear your mes- 
sage to Dr. Haley.” 

It was now Mrs. Tarvin’s turn to be timid and 
embarrassed, as she took leave of the young 
preacher, whose awkwardness only yesterday had 
thrown her into a fit of nervous excitement. She 
both feared and detested him. For the first time 
in life she lost her self-possession. She was fully 
conscious of his greatness, but hoped she would not 
see him again in Princeton. 

‘"Good-by, Mr. Hatton,” she said. “I am glad 
you met me — oh, pardon — I mean I am not” — then 
blushing and confused she tried to make amends, 
and further blundered by saying: “Really, Pm so 
confused and upset that I scarcely know what I am 
saying.” 

John Hatton, with uncovered head, bowed low, 
and with stern face, upon which could be seen the 
faint trace of a smile, said: “Good-by, Mrs. Tarvin.” 

The Colonel and Mrs. Tarvin, accompanied by 
Dr. Ferguson, turned away, but Eleanor lingered 
and said to the preacher: “Papa said to tell you he 
would see you at the station before you leave.” 

The three gentlemen walked away from the 
church, and had gone half a square or more be- 
fore anyone spoke, so high had been the tension 
of the last few moments. Then Hepburn broke 
the silence, saying: “Pardon me, Mr. Hatton, but 
do you want to know why I think there are not 


59 


THE TRANSITION 

more people in the churches, and working at re- 
ligion ?” 

“I am much interested to know your opinion, 
Mr. Hepburn, for this is one of the problems 
upon which I have thought a great deal, and as 
yet am far from a conclusion.” 

“Well, there are doubtless many reasons,” said 
Hepburn, “but one of them is, there are so many 

d fools on the subject of religion, like this 

Mrs. Tarvin, for instance, who want to boss the 
preachers, and run the churches.” 

At this Jamison exploded with laughter, say- 
ing: “I would not say that, Hepburn, for you 
know Mrs. Tarvin is a very fine woman. She is 
just cranky on this one subject.” 

“I beg pardon, gentlemen,” continued Hepburn, 
“it is very rude of me to speak so in connection 
with the name of so estimable a lady as Mrs. Tar- 
vin. In many respects she is a most remarkable 
individual, but upon the question of religion, to 
say the least, I consider her very narrow.” 

“After all, she perhaps should not be censured, 
for most people’s religious opinions, even though 
they be decided as Mrs. Tarvin’s, are inherited, 
rather than the result of earnest, honest and intel- 
ligent investigation. For instance, I know from 
personal conversation with Mrs. Tarvin, that all 
her beliefs concerning religion are contained in 
the Presbyterian Confession of Faith. She hasn’t 
one idea of conviction that she did not learn in 
6o 


THE TRANSITION 


early life, from the catechism of her church. She 
accepts the doctrine of predestination or foreordina- 
tion, without qualification, and literally believes, as 
Parson Van Ausbrooke used to say, that ‘what is to 
be, will be, if it never comes to pass.’ ” 

“Yes, I was wrong in blaming her, for, after 
all, the preachers are responsible for the think- 
ing, or, rather, lack of thought on the part of the 
laity.” 

“I am not religiously inclined,” continued Hep- 
burn, “but were I ever so much so, I could not 
conscientiously join a church, such as yours is to- 
day, Mr. Hatton, for I should have to subscribe 
to your creed, or at least formally accept your fixed 
doctrines. While I do not accept all of the Bible, 
still, were I to join your church, I should not be 
free to accept or interpret any of it for myself, 
save as it had already been interpreted in your Con- 
fession of Faith, which, as an ordained clergyman, 
you are obligated to hold forth as, using a legal 
phrase, containing ‘the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth’; this being the case, the 
masses of the people really have no need of the 
Bible, but should learn only from your creed.” 

Had anyone but Ward Hepburn spoken thus, 
and had such talk been directed to any other than 
John Hatton, there might have been an estrange- 
ment between them then and there, but these were 
kindred spirits that had met, and they went at 
each other openly, freely, candidly. They felt as 
6i 


THE TRANSITION 


if they had known each other always, as indeed 
clear minds and honest hearts always feel when 
they meet. 

To Hepburn’s remarks, Hatton only replied: 
“What you say is very true, and I feel it most 
keenly.” 

“Really, Mr. Hatton,” said Hepburn, “your ser- 
mon this morning impressed me very deeply, but 
for my life, I do not see how you can preach that 
way, and at the same time be loyal to your creed. 
You enthroned truth, and advanced a great idea in 
that true liberty comes always by truth. But a creed 
bound religionist can never be free. If you stick 
to your denomination and continue to preach as 
you did this morning, I see trouble ahead for you.” 

By this time the three gentlemen had arrived 
at the Hotel Lucile. 

The Lucile was the most famous hostelry in that 
section of Kentucky. Its most striking features 
were the dining-room, and the front veranda. The 
main structure of the building was four stories 
high. The large dining-room was in the center 
with the office and lobby in front, the kitchen and 
serving room in the rear, and parlors, long halls 
and guest rooms on either side. The peculiarity 
of the dining-room was the height of the dome, 
which rose above the top story of the hotel, and 
was of delicately tinted stained glass. Projecting 
from the second story on all sides of the room 
were balconies large enough to hold an orchestra 
62 


THE TRANSITION 


and a goodly number of people. James Farnum’s 
orchestra usually played during the luncheon and 
dinner hours. 

It was in this dining-room that John Hatton sat 
at luncheon with Ward Hepburn and Ollie Jamison. 
As usual, on Sunday, the room was filled with 
guests, for in Princeton, it was ‘'quite the thing” 
for many of the “society” people to lunch at the 
Lucile, after church, When these three gentle- 
men walked in and appropriated the seats reserved 
for them, there was a general look of surprise 
among the guests. 

At her own table with her husband sitting at 
the opposite end, and her specially invited guests 
upon either side, sat Mrs. Pinchard. (“Aunt 
Laura,” as she was respectfully called by nearly 
all who knew her), presiding with characteristic 
dignity. Aunt Laura’s table was usually the center 
of attraction, but to-day it seemed that the unusual 
was happening everywhere in Princeton, and the 
Lucile was not an exception. For Hepburn and 
Jamison to be entertaining a preacher, and to be 
entirely comfortable and much interested in his 
company, was, to say the least, a most unexpected 
and surprising thing to those who knew these gen- 
tlemen. Among the hotel guests this was even a 
source of greater surprise, than the remarkable 
services at the church which the greater number 
of them had attended. 

Church topics and religious questions were not 

63 


THE TRANSITION 


touched upon by these men during the meal. Jami- 
son and Hepburn were politely attentive to their 
guest, who was rather abstracted in manner. The 
fact was, reaction had set in, and John Hatton was 
his conscious self. 

He had as yet seen but little of the world. Nash- 
ville was the largest city he had ever seen, most 
of his life having been spent in the country, and 
the small town of Lebanon. He was somewhat 
overawed by his environment; while the music, 
the flowers, the mellow light, the splendidly dressed 
company strangely affected him, and his real self 
was elsewhere. 

Was it all a dream? he wondered. Had he boldly 
but with childlike simplicity declared a great truth 
out of the virgin purity of his heart, had he listened 
to exquisite music, and had a beautiful woman 
looked kindly upon him, and spoken gently to him? 
Would he see her again, would she play any part 
of his future — what would come of it all? These 
with a thousand other kindred thoughts went 
trooping through his brain, as, mechanically, he 
went through the meal, while Hepburn and Jamison 
interested in their guest, but failing to understand 
him, tried to entertain him. 

After luncheon, four people assembled in a pri- 
vate sitting room, back of the main parlor, for a 
brief chat. These four individuals were ^‘Aunt 
Laura,’’ her husband James Pinchard, Aunt Laura’s 


64 


THE TRANSITION 


widowed sister, Mrs. Francis Farnurn, and her son 
James Farnurn. 

Now these four were the individuals of interest 
inseparably connected with the Lucile. 

As before stated, Mrs. Pinchard was known and 
usually referred to as “Aunt Laura,” her husband 
was known as “Uncle Jimmy,” her sister as “Aunt 
Frank,” and Aunt Frank’s son as “Jimmy” Farnurn. 

Aunt Laura was very religious, very positive, and 
very domineering. She was active in the mission- 
ary work of the church, and known far and wide 
as an enthusiast in the Christian Endeavor move- 
ment. 

She was both a leader and a driver; where she 
could not lead, she would try to drive; failing to 
drive people her way, she would drive them from 
her, and incur their pronounced opposition and oft- 
entimes bitter enmity. 

Aunt Frank was not so active in church circles, 
but was a leader of some note in the W. C. T. U. 
To her the white ribbon was a badge of honor, 
and stood for all the needs of the day in the way 
of reform and the general welfare of society at 
large. She and Aunt Laura were a unit in favor 
of total abstinence, and in general opposition to the 
liquor traffic. Needless to state, there was no bar 
at the Lucile. 

Uncle Jimmy was nominally a member of the 
church, perhaps more for the reason that Aunt 
Laura demanded it, than for any other, but withal, 

65 


THE TRANSITION 

he was a kind-hearted man, generous to a fault, 
and loved by all who knew him; he was fond of 
his cups, and when from under the watchful eye 
of Aunt Laura he ''tarried long at the wine.” 
Jimmy had no religious pretentions whatever, but 
was a "good fellow,” popular among the towns- 
people and with the traveling public. His position 
at the Lucile, in addition to leading the orchestra, 
was that of both head clerk and general manager; 
but, mind you, all the affairs of the Lucile were 
under the general direction and superintendance of 
Aunt Laura herself. 

Notwithstanding the wide difference in disposi- 
tion and temperament among these four individuals, 
there was a beautiful attachment between them; 
they loved one another devotedly, and all worked 
in unity for their common interests. Whenever any- 
thing out of the ordinary happened in Princeton, it 
was discussed by them in full family conclave. 

All four of them had attended church and were 
close observers of all that had happened, both at 
church and the hotel. Their chief astonishment, 
however, was that Hepburn and Jamison had been 
to church, and were entertaining the preacher. To 
Aunt Laura and Aunt Frank the whole affair was 
inexplicable; to Uncle Jimmy and Jimmy it was 
extraordinary, interesting and amusing. 

Before coming into the sitting-room, Jimmy 
had been in the office where the lawyers and preacher 


66 


THE TRANSITION 


were having cigars, for which he had declined pay- 
ment, saying : 

''As the ‘Rev/ is going to smoke, it must be on 
the house. He is my kind of a preacher, and when- 
ever he is in Princeton this cigar case is open to 
him.” 

After joining the other three in the sitting-room 
Jimmy Farnum proceeded to give vent to his feel- 
ings by saying: 

“I’ll tell you now. Aunt Laura, if you people get 
that man Hatton to preach for you, you will have a 
'cracker] ack.’ You may just bet your life, he is 
all right. Fie is one of the boys, and it’s natural, 
too. You just ought to see him puffing that cigar 
— and he is not learning, either ! He smokes like an 
old stager. He propped his feet up on the banister, 
took a whiff, and then spit clear across the side- 
walk into the street; and the beauty of it all is, 
that everything he does is natural. Fie is plain as 
an old shoe, and say, Hepburn and Jamison are 
taking to him like ducks take to water. Don’t that 
jar you? It’s because he has so much natural sense, 
for you know they care nothing about religion. 
But that’s the kind of man to fill the bill to-day. 
He doesn’t dress like a preacher, he doesn’t talk like 
a preacher, he doesn’t act like a preacher, but he 
certainly can preach, if what he gave ’em this morn- 
ing is a fair sample. I’ll tell you now. I’d bet dol- 
lars to doughnuts that he can beat that sermon this 
morning any old time. He was a little bit upset 
67 


THE TRANSITION 


when he first started, but when he did get straight- 
ened out, didn’t he go some? Ward Hepburn sat 
there with his mouth open. He’s as ugly as the 
dickens, anyhow, and when I saw him kinder bent 
over with his chin dropped down, I thought I’d 
laugh out loud.” 

Just then some one in the office called for Jimmy, 
and he arose to go, but stopped in the doorway to 
say: 

‘‘Well, Aunt Laura, you know Lm not much 
when it comes to church matters, but if you people 
get this man to come here to preach, I’ll go to hear 
him every time I can, and besides that. I’ll keep 
him in cigars, free of charge. That will help some, 
won’t it. Uncle Jimmy?” 

And with a hearty laugh he left the three alone. 

“There is no danger of their employing this man 
to preach here,” said Uncle Jimmy, “for the bosses 
up at the church are too narrow-minded. If he 
could outpreach Talmage they would not have him. 
I understand Mrs. Tarvin is against him, and you 
know that settles it, but that’s the way everything 
goes. Every good thing, and every good man is 
set back by the cranks ; but Tm for himT 

“Well, James,” said Aunt Laura, “it is no sure 
sign that Mr. Hatton is all right simply because you 
and Jimmy like him. There are some other things 
that you and Jimmy like that do you no credit. As 
for Mrs. Tarvin, we all know she is a very fine 
woman, and her position and influence in the church 
68 


THE TRANSITION 


entitles her to a great deal of consideration, espe- 
cially when it comes to so serious a matter as the 
employment of a minister. I agree that he gave an 
unusual address this morning, but I’m not a woman 
to be swept off my feet by first impressions ; as for 
me, I should like to see and know more of him 
before I favor his being called to our church. Be- 
sides, I do not like his smoking. It is lowering 
the dignity of the ministry for a clergyman to in- 
dulge in so filthy a practice. I shall not even speak 
favorably of him until I know how he stands on 
the Christian Endeavor movement. I saw Ev. Mar- 
tin talking to him at church, and if he takes sides 
with that man who opposes every advance move- 
ment in the church, especially anything that is for 
the good of the young people, then I’m unalterably 
opposed to him.” 

“Well, Laura, his smoking is all right, so far as 
I’m concerned. There is only one thing about which 
I want to be sure,” said Aunt Frank, “and that is 
how he stands on the W. C. T. U.” 

“And the fact that Jimmy likes him means a great 
deal to me; you know Jimmy has never cared any- 
thing for preachers, and it has been a task to get 
him to attend church. Jimmy is all I have in this 
world, and you know how I love him. If he was 
only in the church I should be satisfied. He likes 
Mr. Hatton, and says he will go to church if we 
call him. Who knows but that this man could get 


69 


THE TRANSITION 

him to become a Christian. Yes, I think I’m for 
him, if he believes in the White Ribbon.’ ” 

The little party broke up and went into the public 
parlor, the last remark being made by Aunt Laura, 
who said: 

*‘Let us wait developments. It is not well to 
be too hasty. In some ways I like the young man, 
and if the opposition is not too strong, and he is 
all right on the Endeavor movement, I, too, may be 
for him.” 

After luncheon Hatton, Hepburn and Jamison 
were sitting on the front veranda, engaged in con- 
versation, when Sam Langdon and Hop Houston 
came up and stopped to greet them. Both Lang- 
don and Houston had been introduced to Hatton 
at church, and, seeing him smoking a cigar and 
pleasantly chatting with his companions, could not 
resist the impulse to stop and chat. 

Langdon was a deacon in the church, active in 
secret societies, and one of the most prominent 
and successful of the younger business men of 
Princeton. Houston was proprietor of the largest 
drug store of the town, prominent in social circles, 
and widely known among Free Masons, being Past 
Grand Master of this fraternity in Kentucky, the 
youngest man ever honored with this high office in 
the history of the order in this State. 

The conversation at once turned upon the church, 
preachers and preaching, when Mr. Houston ex- 
pressed his delight with the sermon of the morning. 

70 


THE TRANSITION 


Langdon pleasantly observed that “Mr. Hatton 
should feel himself complimented by the morning 
audience, especially when such ‘old sinners’ as Hous- 
ton, Hepburn and Jamison were out.” 

“How is this, anyhow, boys,” Langdon continued, 
“it is very unusual for you fellows to take up with 
a preacher. I understand you had lunch together. 
You must be in poor health.” 

“Oh, no,” observed Houston, “they are both go- 
ing into politics, and have decided to join the church 
to get the support of the church people. I heard up 
the street that Jamison was to lead prayer meeting 
Wednesday evening, and Hepburn is to make a 
Sunday-school speech at Dawson Springs picnic 
next Saturday.” 

“Maybe you have heard, Brother Hatton,” con- 
tinued Houston, “that Mr. Hepburn is a candidate 
for Circuit Judge, and Mr. Jamison expects to be 
nominated for Congress.” 

“Hop,” as everybody called him, was the soul of 
good fellowship, and was known as a great “Kid- 
der,” so his remarks only precipitated a hearty 
laugh. 

“But seriously, Mr. Houston,” spoke up Ward 
Hepburn, “it may seem a little out of the ordinary 
to see Jamison and me at church, and afterward 
associating with the preacher. I only hope the af- 
fair will do no harm to Mr. Hatton; it can only 
benefit us. We admit that it was in response to 
Miss Tarvin’s invitation that we were at church this 

71 


THE TRANSITION 

morning, but our being with Mr. Hatton now is of 
our own volition, for, after hearing the gentle- 
man’s discourse we were anxious to know more of 
him. I am frank to say, however, that in Mr. 
Hatton’s company I do not feel that we are asso- 
ciating with a clergyman. Judging from his man- 
ner of speech this morning, and from what we have 
seen of him personally, if the gentleman will par- 
don me, I must say that in entering the ministry I 
believe he has missed his calling. He should be a 
lawyer, or in some other profession where he would 
be free to think and act in a manly way, a privilege 
of which a man is robbed when he wears the ‘cloth.’ 
At any rate, it strikes me that Mr. Hatton is a man 
of affairs, but he cannot continue so very long in 
undertaking the work of the orthodox clergy. The 
ministry to-day offers nothing to the man of parts ; 
he cannot think and act as a freeman, and at the 
same time be loyal to the standards of orthodoxy. 
There is not much likelihood, however, of Mr. Hat- 
ton’s continuing in the ministry, if his future preach- 
ing is in logical sequence of the sermon he gave 
this morning. He may be called to the Princeton 
pulpit, but he cannot hold it long if he continues 
as he started to-day.” 

‘T must thank Mr. Hepburn for the indirect com- 
pliment he has paid me,” said John Hatton, “and at 
the same time take issue with him upon some of 
'his statements. He says the ministry of to-day 
offers nothing to a man of parts. Taking the ex- 
72 


THE TRANSITION 


treme opposite position, and ridding the question 
of all mysticism and sentiment, it is my firm con- 
viction that to-day no other calling is so rich in 
opportunity to disseminate truth, to enrich the 
mind of the masses, and to be of real value to the 
race, as is the Gospel ministry, when the nature and 
purpose of this ministry are rightly understood. 
All truth is a unit. All worthy effort to benefit 
mankind is a unit, and in whatever phase or depart- 
ment of human experience that effort may be put 
forth, it is equally sacred. I am not in harmony 
with my church in believing in a special ^divine 
cair to the ministry. To my mind, to be naturally 
equipped by the God of nature for any particular 
work, within itself constitutes a divine call to that 
work. In this sense the law is as sacred as the 
ministry — so is every other worthy calling. The 
true lawyer is as Teverend’ as the preacher; if not, 
he has not risen to his privilege, and does not honor 
his profession as he should.” 

'T have chosen the gospel ministry, not that I 
desire to be regarded as an orthodox clergyman, but 
because I love God and humanity, am enamored of 
truth, and desire to help the world of struggling 
mankind; no other place offers me the opportunity 
to reach humanity as does the pulpit. Nothing can 
ever take the place of the spoken word. There will 
always be magic and powder in the human presence 
and the human voice. The man with a message 


73 


THE TRANSITION 


will always have a hearing, especially the man who 
has a manly message of life and peace.” 

They looked at him in silence and wonderment as 
he shook the ashes from the end of his cigar, re- 
lighted it, took a few whiffs, and calmly continued : 
“And to my mind, gentlemen, what I have said 
was never so true as it is to-day. The world will 
listen to the truth now, as never before. In this 
strenuous life there is no way to reach the masses 
so effectively as from the pulpit. People no longer 
read much — they haven’t the time. It is an age of 
headlines ; everything must be condensed. The 
popular book of the hour is the brief story. The 
art of conversation is rapidly passing. The whole 
process of our material civilization is grinding and 
wearing upon the masses so that humanity itself 
is threatened with nervous prostration. Anything 
that will give the individual or the masses temporary 
or permanent relief from the grind, will be gladly 
accepted. The only remedy for the evil is the 
gospel of truth, such as I tried to preach this morn- 
ing — the pulpit for me, gentlemen ” 

“I pass,” said Jamison. 

“I pass,” said Houston. 

“Better all pass,” chimed in Langdon. 

“Yes, I pass, too,” said Hepburn, “and while Pm 
for you I wait also to see your finish as an orthodox 
clergyman — you are not cut out for one; but you 
will be all right, for as water finds its level so will 
you find your place.” 


74 


THE TRANSITION 


Hatton smiled and said: “Gentlemen, it is very 
pleasant to be with you, and I must say that I shall 
not soon forget your hospitality and pleasant con- 
versation. I only regret my inability to entertain 
you so handsomely should you happen to be in 
Lebanon before I leave there, but in event you 
should and will accept my invitation, I shall re- 
ciprocate to the best of my ability.” 

“And that would be superb,” replied Jamison, the 
others giving assent, and thanking John Hatton for 
his invitation. 

Hatton arose, saying it was about time to go to 
the depot, as he was to meet Colonel Tarvin there 
a few minutes before train time. At the suggestion 
of Sam Langdon the four gentlemen walked with 
the preacher to the railroad station, which was only 
a few blocks away. 

Around the table in the Tarvin home at luncheon 
sat Colonel and Mrs. Tarvin, Dr. Ferguson and 
Miss Eleanor. 

Conversation was rather slow and strained at 
first, until Dr. Ferguson opened the issue by point- 
edly asking Colonel Tarvin what he thought of the 
preacher and the sermon of the morning. 

It was a crucial moment. Mrs. Tarvin and 
Eleanor were equally anxious concerning his reply, 
but their desires as to what the reply should be, 
were widely different. Both women stopped eating. 
Mrs. Tarvin dropped her hands upon her lap and 
75 


THE TRANSITION 


appeared utterly despondent, and Eleanor placed 
her elbows upon the table, and resting her face upon 
her hands, leaned forward and looked intently into 
her father’s eyes; deep anxiety was depicted upon 
Dr. Ferguson’s face, as all waited Colonel Tarvin’s 
reply. 

“Well, Doctor,” said the Colonel, “you know 
when it comes to a question of orthodoxy, I am not 
a competent judge. To begin with, I am not ortho- 
dox; therefore, from the general standpoint of the 
church, my opinion concerning Mr. Hatton and his 
sermon would not be worth much. Personally, 
however, I must say that I regard the young 
preacher as a most remarkable man, and the sermon 
he gave us to-day impressed me, perhaps, as no other 
sermon ever did. All his statements were self-evi- 
dent, and carried conviction with them. The dis- 
course was delivered in masterful simplicity, and 
I’m sure it made a profound impression upon the 
audience.” 

Eleanor smiled, Mrs. Tarvin frowned. Dr. Fer- 
guson sipped some water ; all were silent. 

“Laura, please tap the bell for ’Liza, and have 
her bring on the luncheon. I must drive back to 
town pretty soon, as Brother Hatton expects me to 
see him at the station before train time,” said the 
Colonel. 

Aunt ’Liza proceeded to serve the meal, and 
everything progressed as usual until Mrs. Tarvin 
spoke up, saying: “And what do you think of the 
76 


THE TRANSITION 

preacher and the sermon of the morning, Dr. Fer- 
guson?” 

The doctor had had time to gather his wits since 
the Colonel had expressed himself, and had wisely 
concluded not to openly antagonize Colonel Tarvin 
by attacking the young preacher at that time. 

So, assuming an air of importance commensurate 
with his age and dignity, the doctor replied to Mrs. 
Tarvin’s question by saying: “Mrs. Tarvin, it is 
very difficult to arrive at anything near an accurate 
opinion regarding a young man’s ability from hear- 
ing him only one time. Of course, allowance for 
his awkwardness and embarrassment must be made, 
as it is evident that he has had but little experience. 
Then, too, we must not be hasty in criticising his 
lack of sermonic style, in both the subject matter 
of the sermon, and the manner of delivery. These 
defects, it is natural to suppose, will be overcome 
by experience. On the whole, I regard Brother 
Hatton as a rather promising young man, and when 
he has a little more experience, and sees the folly 
of some of the 'advanced ideas' of the day, of which 
he seems to have a smattering, I have no doubt 
that he will be a strong preacher.” 

Seeing this patronizing attempt on the part of 
Dr. Ferguson to damn the young man with faint 
praises. Colonel Tarvin was too annoyed to make re- 
ply. Eleanor’s spirit was fired within her, but her 
lady-like instincts curbed her tongue. Mrs. Tarvin 
was pleased with the doctor’s remarks, but her keen 
77 


THE TRANSITION 


perception showed her he had not been tactful in this 
attempt to set his sails to run between counter 
winds, which purpose he had missed altogether. 

The meal was finished without further reference 
to preacher or church. Colonel Tarvin excused him- 
self and immediately started to Princeton. 

Miss Eleanor also excused herself and went to 
her room. 

Mrs. Tarvin and Dr. Ferguson took seats upon 
the front veranda, and engaged in a conversation of 
two hours’ duration. 

Ward Hepburn^ Ollie Jamison, Hop Houston and 
Sam Langdon were saying good-by to John Hatton 
as Colonel Tarvin approached them on the platform. 

During the few minutes before the arrival of the 
train the conversation between Colonel Tarvin and 
John Hatton was cordial, candid and direct. The 
Colonel frankly told him how anxious he was for 
him in the beginning of his discourse that morning, 
and how delighted he was that he had overcome 
stage fright, and gave them such a magnificent ser- 
mon. 

‘‘Of course we cannot tell,” continued the Colonel, 
“what the outcome will be. There are some very 
conservative people in our congregation, and you 
may have some opposition ; but, as for me, I should 
be much pleased to have you called to this work, 
and shall use all my influence to bring it about.” 

John Hatton thanked the Colonel for his interest 
and kindly words, also expressed his pleasure and 
78 


THE TRANSITION 


thanks for the hospitality he had been shown in the 
Colonel’s home. 

‘The latch-string is always on the outside to you, 
young man,” said the Colonel, as they shook hands 
and John Hatton ascended the steps and entered the 
train which bore him away from Princeton. 

As the train pulled out of the town, the one 
thought in the young man’s mind was, would he 
ever return again? 

The railroad from Princeton to Hopkinsville, over 
which John Hatton was going, lay near the Tarvin 
home, and from the window of Eleanor’s room it 
could be seen, winding down the valley and then 
losing itself behind the hills. 

Looking from her window Eleanor Tarvin 
watched the train which bore John Hatton away. 
After it had rounded the curve she still lingered, 
looking at the smoke that rose above the tree tops, 
and listening to the whistle that sounded like a 
distant echo as the train sped on. 

A tear was in her eye as she turned to answer 
Eliza, her old black mammy, who was standing 
just inside the door, and had lovingly said : 

“And now what’s de mattah wid my baby?” 


79 


CHAPTER VI. 


The class of ’95 in the Theological Seminary of 
Cumberland University comprised about twenty 
members. The personnel was such as is usually 
found in such a body; the majority of them left 
the Seminary with the clerical stamp indelibly fixed 
upon them. 

John Hatton was a type unto himself; as yet 
he had had but little opportunity of testing his 
natural oratorical ability. 

He stood almost alone in his class, and had it 
not been for the sympathy and appreciation of Dr. 
Haley, Dean of the Seminary and Professor of 
Homiletics, Hatton’s life there would have been 
very lonely. 

It is no wonder then, that there was nothing 
short of consternation among the theologues when 
it became known that Hatton had visited Princeton, 
and most likely would be called to the pastorate of 
the church. 

Smithers, Farrar and Wicker walked together 
down the street the day the news became known 
in Lebanon, and Smithers observed that Hatton’s 
personality could not command the attention of a 
Princeton audience; Farrar was certain that his 
scholarship would not meet the demands of a like 
80 


THE TRANSITION 


community; and Wicker lamented that he was not 
sufficiently consecrated and pious to be the succes- 
sor of so eminent a line of clergymen as had given 
distinction to the Princeton pulpit; all agreed that 
he was in no way fitted to receive and wear the 
mantle of Dr. Ferguson, the retiring pastor. 

The same day, Dr. Haley was accosted by two 
members of the faculty and brought to task for com- 
mending Hatton. These two professors, Stainer 
and Bain, secretly disliked Dr. Haley, and were 
jealous of his ability and angry at his independence. 
To them Dr. Haley simply replied : ‘‘Gentlemen, in 
suggesting Hatton to the Princeton church I acted 
upon my own judgment based upon my knowledge 
of the man. The future will reveal the wisdom or 
folly of my action.” 

The following morning, a half hour before the 
classes assembled, the two above-mentioned pro- 
fessors and the three class leaders met in the main 
assembly room. The Princeton matter was under 
discussion and had reached a climax when Prof. 
Bain stated that he knew Hatton to be heterodox, 
and asked the advice of those present whether or 
not the facts should be communicated to Dr. Fer- 
guson. It was agreed that this should be done, 
and the professor consented to communicate with 
Dr. Ferguson at once. 


8i 


CHAPTER VII. 


For years Aunt Eliza had been devoted to Colonel 
Tarvin. Her mother had been his black mammy, 
and from childhood he had been her (Eliza’s) “mas- 
tah.” Eleanor, from the time of her birth, had been 
the idol of Aunt Eliza, and the slightest wish of her 
“baby,” as she always called Eleanor, was law unto 
the faithful old servant. 

As Aunt Eliza passed to and fro between the 
dining-room and kitchen, she thus mused to herself : 
“Fs ’spicious dat everything ain’t gwine jist right 
roun’ heah, and Fse gwine listen at what dem folks 
out on de miranda am sayin’. De Cunnel an’ my 
baby am pow’ful upset ’bout sump’n. I sees it, I 
knows it! My sakes a liben, dey better not fool 
wid de Cunnel, and dey better be keerful what dey 
does to my baby. I tells you now, dey better be 
keerful I Lawd, Lawd, dem Tarvins is fightin’ stock 
fum way back, dey is sho! Wuzn’t de Cunnel’s 
Paw a solger? Wuzn’t de Cunnel hisself a solger? 
An’ ain’t my baby herself jist like ’em? Mighty 
peaceful like, and dosile till you gits ’em stirred up, 
but den dey is thunder and lightnin’ ! Take keer, 
little chillun, take keer, for sump’n gwine happen.” 

82 


THE TRANSITION 


“Stay whar you is, dishes, stay whar you is,” 
continued Aunt Eliza, “you gits no washin’ now, fo’ 
I must heah what dem folks is say in’.” 

She quietly entered the hall and seated herself 
just inside the door, within hearing. 

“Well, Mrs. Tarvin,” said Dr. Ferguson, “I feel 
quite sure that you and I share the same feeling 
with regard to the young man who spoke this 
morning, and that this is a critical time in the his- 
tory of the Princeton church.” 

“I agree with you. Dr. Ferguson,” said Mrs. 
Tarvin, “please go on and express yourself freely, 
for something must be done, and that immediately, 
or the church will be ruined.” 

“The only thing to do,” continued the doctor, “is, 
in some diplomatic way, to forestall the possibility 
of Mr. Hatton’s being called to this pulpit. There 
is no personal feeling against him on my part, but 
my duty to the church, my loyalty to the Confession 
of Faith compel me to oppose his coming, and, 
further, I shall feel it my duty to watch his course 
and take note of his teaching, wherever he may be 
located, for, to my mind, he is not loyal to our 
teaching and will, before long be subject to charges 
of heresy. Mind you, I do not now make such a 
charge, for his talk this morning was carefully 
worded and would not be sufficient to convict him; 
but the trend of his thought is in that direction, and 
a little time will show where he stands. At any 
rate, we must defeat his being called to Princeton.” 

83 


THE TRANSITION 


‘‘You voice my opinion, doctor, but this must be 
done in a most cautious way,” said Mrs. Tarvin. 

“Of that I am aware,” assented the doctor, “for 
two things are evident in this very house. Your 
husband and daughter seem to take to the young 
man, and, strange as it may seem, they were not 
pleased with my remarks at the table.” 

“You are quite right, and that is why I say we 
must be prudent and cautious,” said Mrs. Tarvin, 
“for,” she continued, “I know Colonel Tarvin’s de- 
termination, and in this respect Eleanor is not un- 
like him. Should they set their heads in favor of 
Mr. Hatton they would never yield, and would do 
everything within their power to carry their point.” 

“And,” continued Mrs. Tarvin, “the young 
preacher is the kind of man, Fm sorry to say, who 
would appeal to them. As you know, the Colonel 
has never been orthodox, and since Eleanor has 
come under the influence of the eastern schools, 
she, too, has had a touch of the so-called ‘liberal 
thought.’ ” 

“In view of these facts, then, we should pursue 
some other method than that of creating prejudice 
against the young man on account of his heretical 
tendencies.” 

“What then, do you suggest?” asked the doctor. 

“I think it would be better to influence a ma- 
jority of the members of the session to vote against 
the call, upon the ground thaf Mr. Hatton is rather 
young and inexperienced, and also lacking in suf- 
84 


r 




“ ‘Dat’s it, dat’s it,’ gasped Aunt Eliza, as she arose from 
her seat and started for Eleanor’s room.” — Page 86, 

(Facing page 85.) 


THE TRANSITION 


ficient culture for the Princeton pulpit/’ answered 
Mrs. Tarvin. 

“What is done must be done at once, as the 
board is to meet Tuesday morning,” said the doctor. 
“Suppose then,” continued the doctor, “we begin at 
once.” 

“Very well, I would suggest that you go at once, 
and have a talk with L. S. Rogers, Judge Hull and 
C. J. Warner. I suggest these three officers,” 
continued Mrs. Tarvin, “for there are particular 
reasons why each one of them may be influenced 
against him. Mr. Rogers, you know, likes to be 
regarded as a leader. He became active in the 
young people’s society some years ago, and at every 
opportunity took occasion to talk in public in order 
to win popularity, hoping to be elected to the elder- 
ship when the first vacancy occurred. He was made 
an elder, not that he is really fitted for the place, 
but because he sought the office, and put himself in 
position for it, no one having the nerve to oppose 
him. But with all his cant and his harangues and 
gratuitous advice to everybody in general, he has 
never been worth anything to the church. The fact 
is, very few people believe in his sincerity.” 

“The time has come, however,” Mrs. Tarvin 
went on to say, “when he can be of use to us. In 
my opinion, if you will go to him confidentially and 
ask him to become active against Mr. Hatton, he 
will do so; but, mark you, should he find later that 


85 


THE TRANSITION 


a majority are for Mr. Hatton, he will turn over 
to that side. At any rate, try him.” 

“What course do you suggest with reference to 
Brothers Hull and Warner?” asked Dr. Ferguson. 

“Say to them you do not think Mr. Hatton the 
man for us. As I have already suggested, ask Mr. 
Rogers to use his influence and send Judge Hull and 
Mr. Warner to me early to-morrow. I shall see 
Aunt Laura Pinchard in the meantime, and she 
will control Judge Hull and one or two other mem- 
bers of the session ; in this way, I am quite confident 
that the opposition to Mr. Hatton will be sufficient 
to prevent a call at the first meeting of the board.” 

“Very well,” said the doctor, “with this under- 
standing, I had better go at once, as we have no 
time to lose.” 

“Dat’s it, dat’s it,” gasped Aunt Eliza, as she 
arose from her seat and started for Eleanor’s room. 
“Didn’t I know it, didn’t I say it?” She said to 
herself while going up the steps. “Ole Missus don’t 
know what she be talkin’ ’bout. De trufe is dat my 
baby gwine to hab dat fine young feller fo’ a hus- 
band. Dey done love bofe of deyselves already, but 
de udder don’t know it. Mammy knows it, doh, but, 
oh, Lawd, heaps ob trouble is a waitin’ fo’ ’em. Dey 
has a hard road to trabble, sho ’nuf.” Then she si- 
lently opened the door and stepped into Eleanor’s 
room. 


86 


CHAPTER VIIL 


Early Monday morning Judge Hull answered a 
telephone call from “Aunt Laura,” requesting him 
to call at the Lucile at lo o’clock, for a conference 
with some friends upon a very important matter. 
A similar request was made to several other mem- 
bers of the Official Board of the Princeton Church. 

Meanwhile Elder L. S. Rogers was busy con- 
ferring with Mrs. Hall, Mrs. Thomas and some of 
the young people of the Endeavor society. 

Dr. Ferguson had not allowed the grass to grow 
under his feet the previous afternoon and that 
morning. 

So, at 10 A. M. Monday there were eight people 
in “Aunt Laura’s” private parlor for a “confiden- 
tial” talk as to the advisability of taking steps to 
prevent John Hatton’s being called to the Prince- 
ton church. 

Dr. Ferguson and Mrs. Tarvin were not present, 
their lieutenants being so thoroughly drilled that 
they felt very sure their plans would be well carried 
out. 

“Aunt Laura” opened the conversation by sug- 
gesting that in “much counsel there is wisdom.” 
She suggested that “a matter of such grave impor- 

87 


THE TRANSITION 


tance as the employment of a minister should not be 
consummated in haste, as the policy of our church 
is to retain a minister for a long term; therefore, 
no mistake should be made, as it might necessitate 
a change at an early date.” 

''And now,” Mrs. Pinchard continued, "I trust 
you. Judge Hull, Brother Rogers, and you other 
members of the session, will not consider Mrs. Hall, 
Mrs. Thomas and myself presumptuous, in calling 
you into this little conference this morning.” 

"We wish this meeting and all that we say to be 
held in strictest confidence,” she further remarked, 
"and would have you understand that we do not 
presume to advise, or even suggest what you shall 
do, but only wish to state to you a few facts with 
which you may not be acquainted, that you may 
give them due consideration before you go into the 
board meeting to take the matter up officially.” 

"Sister Thomas, we will hear what you have to 
say,” then said Mrs. Pinchard. 

"Well, Sister Pinchard, since you ask me,” said 
Mrs. Thomas, "I will say the same here that I said 
to the Doctor last evening. I don’t think Brother 
Hatton is the man for us. I think it would be a 
mistake to have a single man for our preacher. 
From what Sister Hall and I saw at choir practice 
Saturday evening, I believe there would be too 
much courting going on if he were pastor here. 
From his appearance, I think he would soon become 
very fond of a certain young lady in the church, 
88 , 


THE TRANSITION 

and, of course, nearly all the girls would be after 
him.” 

“And,” continued Mrs. Thomas in a low and con- 
fidential voice, “I’m going to say something now 
that none of you must repeat, but it ought to be 
said. That Mrs. Barton is too familiar with stran- 
gers, especially with unmarried men, and from the 
way they looked at each other Saturday evening, 
and seemed disposed to carry-on, Fm afraid there 
would be talk, especially if she sings in the choir. 
You all know I’m very careful about those things, 
and feel that we should keep the garments of the 
church clean. I’m not saying anything against the 
young preacher, but if he comes here, there is sure 
to be talk. I know it from what I’ve already seen.” 

“Now let us hear from you. Sister Hall,” said 
“Aunt Laura.” 

“I agree with everything Sister Thomas has 
said,” replied Mrs. Hall, “and there is one other 
thing that my husband suggested to me before leav- 
ing home, and that is, we should not get a man with 
a lot of wild, extravagant notions about building a 
new church house. Brother Hatton was heard to 
remark to some one, that he was surprised to see 
that we did not have a better house of worship.” 

“I believe,” continued Mrs. Hall, “that if we 
call him here one of the first things he would pro- 
pose would be to build a new church. So far as I’m 
concerned, the house we have is good enough. Our 
parents worshiped in this house, and every brick in 

89 


THE TRANSITION 


it is sacred to us. It would simply break my heart, 
and would send Pa (her husband) to his grave to 
see our dear old church torn down. As for me, I 
think we should have an older and more settled 
man than Mr. Hatton.” 

The time had come for ^^Aunt Laura” to have 
her say, and she proceeded thus : ‘‘Gentlemen, these 
ladies have expressed themselves very freely, and I 
shall do likewise. I cannot say just at this time 
I am opposed to Mr. Hatton’s being called to the 
Princeton church, but I am opposed to his being 
called at the next meeting of the session, which I 
understand is to be to-morrow. We do not know 
enough about him, and it seems to me that he 
should be investigated.” 

Mrs. Pinchard added further that “it had been 
whispered that Mrs. Tarvin is opposed to Mr. Hat- 
ton, and also Dr. Ferguson is not favorable to him, 
and in view of Mrs. Tarvin’s position and influence, 
and of Dr. Ferguson’s long service as minister, their 
opinions should have some weight. Therefore, 
gentlemen, we have asked you to come here that we 
might lay these matters before you, for your con- 
sideration, and, if you care to express them, to hear 
your views upon the subject.” 

“I can only speak for myself, Mrs. Pinchard,” 
replied Elder Rogers, “but from what I have been 
able to find out, I certainly think it would be unwise 
to extend an immediate call to Mr. Hatton.” 

“As you people know,” continued Mr. Rogers, 
90 


THE TRANSITION 


‘‘I am deeply interested in the young people, and 
after a little quiet investigation I fear that a num- 
ber of the young folks do not take to him. He 
doesn’t seem to be a good mixer, and you know, 
above all things, we need a good mixer.” 

Mr. Rogers finally added, with a cynical smile 
characteristic of the man, “and, good people, I have 
done a little quiet investigating, and find there will 
be considerable opposition.” 

After a few moments of silence, “Aunt Laura” 
remarked: “We have heard nothing from Judge 
Hull.” 

Now Judge Hull was esteemed a very good, a 
genuinely pious man, by all who knew him. While 
he was County Judge and had held other positions 
of trust and importance, he was not a man to take 
the initiative; he lacked that determination and ag- 
gressiveness necessary in a successful leader. 

The Judge had recently married the daughter of 
an aged and very wealthy member of the congre- 
gation. This splendid old gentleman was an ex- 
ceptionally generous man with his means, and had 
been heard to say that he would contribute one-half 
the money necessary to build a new church, pro- 
vided the congregation would raise the other half. 
This did not strike the Judge favorably, doubtless 
for reasons satisfactory to himself. 

After Mrs. Pinchard’s last remark, there was an- 
other short silence. The Judge, looking intently up 
at the ceiling, remarked : “Well, friends, this is not 

91 


THE TRANSITION 

the time nor the place for me to render an opinion ; 
however, I will say that Mrs. Hall’s remarks with 
reference to the building of a new church impress 
me, and in view of the facts in the general situation, 
it is probable that I shall advocate caution in the 
selection of a minister.” 

^'It is not probable,” he said, “that final action in 
the matter will be taken to-morrow.’’ 

Turning to the other two gentlemen present, Mrs. 
Pinchard sought from them an expression. They 
had nothing to say, except that they would be with 
the majority when the matter came up before the 
session. 

The little company dispersed. After a few words 
with Mrs. Pinchard, Mesdames Hall and Thomas 
went to their homes. Judge Hull went immediately 
to his office, and Mr. Rogers walked up the street 
to Hop Houston’s drug store, where Dr. Ferguson 
was waiting. 

The doctor and elder walked to the post-office, 
Rogers telling Dr. Ferguson that the plans were 
working admirably, and giving in detail all that 
had been said at the conference. 

Mrs. Tarvin just then happened to be driving 
by, and the doctor hailed her; she stopped long 
enough to hear the interesting news, which she re- 
ceived with evident satisfaction, and then drove on, 
feeling that such proceedings, while in a sense un- 
der cover, certainly were to be. 


93 


THE TRANSITION 


So far all the opposition to John Hatton had 
been kept very quiet. 

On the other hand, however, there had been much 
favorable comment, and it appeared in the public 
mind there was no doubt that the young man from 
Lebanon would be called to the Princeton pas- 
torate at the first meeting of the officers of the 
church. 

On Tuesday evening Dr. Ferguson called the 
church session to order, there being a full attend- 
ance of elders and deacons. 

After the usual routine business the moderator 
asked whether there was any new business? 

Elder Rogers arose and said: “Mr. Moderator, 
the question of the employment of a minister for 
our church is supposed to have consideration at this 
meeting. It is generally understood that the Rev. 
John Hatton is a receptive candidate for the posi- 
tion, but in view of the fact that as yet our knowl- 
edge of him is very limited, I move that action be 
postponed until the next regular meeting of the 
session.’’ 

Judge Hull arose and respectfully seconded the 
motion. 

This motion precipitated a warm discussion 
which disclosed the fact that the members of the 
board were equally divided for and against the 
young preacher, leaving the moderator, Dr. Fergu- 
son, to make the decision. 

Seeing that he held the balance of power, the 

93 


THE TRANSITION 


doctor voted against the motion to defer action, 
knowing that he could defeat Hatton,, and desiring 
to do so at once. 

The motion being lost. Colonel Tarvin arose and 
moved that the session extend a call to the Rev. 
John Hatton, to become pastor of their church, his 
services to begin as early as possible. The motion 
was seconded by S. D. Langdon, who was ex- 
tremely favorable to Hatton. There was no discus- 
sion, as the whole matter had been gone over in 
the previous discussion. The vote as before was 
equally divided, pro and con. Decision devolved 
upon the Moderator. At some length, he set forth 
his reasons for doing so, and then decided against 
the motion. 

The meeting adjourned and every man who had 
favored Hatton immediately walked out of the 
church, leaving the others standing in blank aston- 
ishment. 

Those men favoring the call of Hatton repre- 
sented the brain, heart and integrity of the official 
board of the church; with the exception of Judge 
Hull, the men opposed to Hatton were weaklings 
and irresponsible. 

The six men who, walked out of the church 
stopped for a few minutes, and Colonel Tarvin 
said: “Gentlemen, this was a concocted scheme, 
and, sorry as I am to say it, Dr. Ferguson is back 
of it. The matter does not end here. Will each of 
you men be at prayer meeting to-morrow evening?’' 

94 


THE TRANSITION 


They all answered in the affirmative. 

After breakfast next morning Colonel Tarvin 
did not mention the action of the session the even- 
ing before, and Mrs. Tarvin asked no questions, 
anxious as she was to know the results of the 
meeting. 

Dr. Ferguson spent a sleepless night, for he 
keenly felt that notwithstanding his temporary vic- 
tory, he was defeated in not having a substantial 
backing in carrying out his designs. 

L. S. Rogers was doubtful of his position, and 
went to the Lucile to confer with '‘Aunt Laura.” 

After hearing a full account of what had trans- 
pired at the meeting of the session, Mrs. Pinchard 
was doubtful of the final outcome of the whole af- 
fair, as she well knew that Dr. Ferguson had car- 
ried his point upon a technicality and that he had 
no substantial backing. 

When Dr. Ferguson called on Mrs. Tarvin 
Wednesday morning, relating to her what had been 
done at the meeting, she only remarked : “It is well, 
as it was to he” 

Other members of the official board who had 
voted against calling John Hatton, soon gave pub- 
licity to what had been done, and it became the talk 
of the town. 

A self-constituted committee of five young men 
and five young ladies from the Christian Endeavor 
Society, drew up some resolutions, protesting 


95 


THE TRANSITION 


against the action of the session and asking that the 
matter be reconsidered. 

Ward Hepburn and Ollie Jamison took it upon 
themselves to circulate a petition among the non- 
church members of the town, asking that the Rev. 
Mr. Hatton be called to Princeton ; two of the lead- 
ing workers of the church circulated a similar pe- 
tition among the members of the congregation. 

By the middle of the afternoon of Wednesday 
the Endeavorers had on their paper the signatures 
of ninety per cent, of their members ; Hepburn and 
Jamison had more than one hundred names on their 
petition. 

During the day the church officers who had fa- 
vored Hatton said not a word, refusing to be inter- 
viewed upon the subject. 

Wednesday evening another unheard-of thing 
happened. The church was packed; many were 
turned away from the prayer meeting services. 

Dr. Ferguson was nothing less than panic- 
stricken; Mrs. Tarvin’s excitement made her almost 
hysterical; and L. S. Rogers had defeat written 
all over him. His chagrin and humiliation caused 
his blushes to show even upon the top of his bald 
head. In vain he tried to smile upon, and shake 
hands with the young people, but they regarded 
him coldly. 

It had been Dr. Ferguson’s custom to conduct 
the prayer meeting service, but it was evident that 
this was to be no prayer meeting. 

96 


THE TRANSITION 


Eleanor Tarvin walked into the church with her 
father a few minutes before the services began. 
Without consulting anyone she walked up to her 
place at the organ and the members of the choir 
followed her example. 

Dr. Ferguson arose, and in voice quivering with 
excitement said : “I am at a loss to know why this 
very large audience has assembled this evening, as 
it is only a regular prayer meeting. It is difficult 
to determine just what course to pursue. I would 
deliver a sermon, but have no manuscript with me.” 

At this juncture S. D. Langdon, who was not in 
the habit of speaking in church, arose and said: 
“Dr. Ferguson, may I suggest, in view of the fact 
that we have so large an audience present, that we 
ask Miss Tarvin to favor us with one or two organ 
selections and then let the choir render the anthem 
which was so greatly enjoyed last Sunday.” 

Hop Houston sprang another surprise by arising, 
and with a few well-chosen words, in which he 
gracefully complimented Miss Tarvin on her skill 
as an organist, seconded Mr. Langdon’s suggestion. 

During the rendition of the music as had been 
suggested, the people that had charge of the papers 
that had been in circulation that day, held a short 
conference and decided upon their method of pro- 
cedure. 

Strange as it may seem. Ward Hepburn, though 
not a church member, was chosen to present the 
matter to the congregation. 

97 


THE TRANSITION 


Hepburn and Langdon walked up and took front 
seats, just as the choir finished the anthem. 

Then Langdon arose, and addressing Dr. Fergu- 
son, said : 

‘Tn many respects this is a most remarkable 
meeting. This great audience is a voluntary pro- 
test against the action taken here last evening, in 
which a motion to call the Rev. John Hatton to the 
pastorate of this church, was defeated.’’ 

^‘And I desire to say here,” continued Langdon, 
‘‘that not one of the members of the session of this 
church who favor calling Mr. Hatton has had any- 
thing whatever to do with getting this crowd out 
here this evening.” 

“I now wish,” said Langdon, “to introduce a 
gentleman who is not a member of any church, to 
voice the sentiments and conscientious convictions 
of a large majority of the people here assembled. 
It gives me great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, to 
present the Hon. Ward Hepburn.” 

Mr. Hepburn arose, and with marked coolness 
and deliberation, said: “Mr. Preacher, Ladies and 
Gentlemen: Pardon my salutation, if it be clothed 
in improper phraseology, as I am not versed in the 
ecclesiastic vernacular.” 

Then turning his searching eyes upon the people, 
all of whom were waiting in almost breathless ex- 
pectancy, he continued, saying: “In most circum- 
stances my own sense of the ‘eternal fitness of 
things’ would forbid my arising to speak in this 
98 


THE TRANSITION 


Presence. As you know, I make no claims of be- 
ing Christian in faith or practice, but you will par- 
don my saying that 

7 thank with brief thanksgiving. 
Whatever gods there be/ 

that the divine justice implanted within my heart 
by the great and just Creator of all, has not entirely 
died out of my soul. 

“Whatever may be your creed, there is one thing 
certain in my mind, which is demonstrated by your 
determined presence upon this occasion, and that is, 
that whatever may be the technicality of the law, 
civil or ecclesiastic, the people have a right to be 
heard !” 

And here the next unheard-of thing in Prince- 
ton happened, the staid and aristocratic Presbyterian 
congregation broke forth in enthusiastic applause. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” continued Hepburn, “it 
is not so much my purpose to make a speech as it is 
to present to the gentlemen in official position in 
this church, your will and desires, as expressed 
Upon the papers which I hold in my hand.” 

Then addressing Dr. Ferguson personally, he 
said: “Reverend Sir, I have here three petitions, 
signed by hundreds of names, asking for the re- 
consideration of the action of the official body over 
which you preside, in which a proposition to call 
the Rev. John Hatton to the pastorate of this church 
was, at your meeting last evening, defeated. One 
99 


THE TRANSITION 


of these petitions is signed by nine-tenths of the 
members of your young people’s society, another is 
signed by over one hundred of the reputable non- 
church members of Princeton, and the other is 
signed by more than three- fourths of the members 
of your church. What official notice shall be taken 
of this meeting and of these petitions?” 

Pale and trembling Dr. Ferguson arose and 
asked: “Has anyone else anything to say?” 

At this point Mr. Rogers, who occupied a seat 
near the middle of the church, arose. Being duly 
recognized, he walked down the aisle to the front. 

Mr. Rogers has a peculiar walk, which might be 
styled a combination of pace and fox-trot, a walk 
that would be well adapted to floor-walking in a 
modern department store. 

“Mr. Moderator, I suggest that a meeting of the 
session be constituted here and now.” 

Dr. Ferguson Said : “There being a quorum pres- 
ent, without objections, I declare the session consti- 
tuted. What is your will, brethren?” 

Again Mr. Rogers arose and said : “Mr. Modera- 
tor, I move you that the question of calling Brother 
Hatton to this church be reconsidered.” 

The motion was duly seconded and upon being 
put to a vote was unanimously carried. 

Then Mr. Rogers called up the original ques- 
tion, and asked for the privilege of speaking upon 
it. 

The request being granted, Mr. Rogers said: “I 
100 , : 


THE TRANSITION 


would like to say to the members of this session, 
and, incidentally, to the congregation present, that 
I believe we made a mistake in not calling Brother 
Hatton. I am for the man the young people want, 
and if they are for Brother Hatton, so am I.” 

In their secret hearts scores of young people 
regarded him as a fawning, designing hypocrite, 
and no doubt scores of other people in the audience 
were divSgusted. 

Mr. Rogers’ motion was promptly seconded, and 
the vote was unanimous for Hatton. 

Dr. Ferguson had nothing to say, except to an- 
nounce the decision of the session. 

S. D. Langdon sprang to his feet and almost 
shouted : “Will all in the audience who indorse this 
action, please arise?” 

Everybody arose, Mesdames Hall and Thomas 
being the last to stand; Mrs. Tarvin stood with the 
rest. 

When the audience was seated Dr. Ferguson re- 
marked: “It appears that Brother Hatton is de- 
sired by the people. He has been officially called 
by this board, and the clerk is hereby instructed to 
so inform him. If there is nothing further to come 
before us I presume it is time to adjourn.” 

Eleanor Tarvin began playing the Doxology. 


lOI 


CHAPTER IX. 


The time of John Hatton’s coming forward as a 
preacher, whether providential, or not, was in the 
beginning of an important period in the history of 
the church life of the world. 

In the beginning of his first pastorate, John Hat- 
ton was unconscious of being the embodiment of 
some mighty principles of eternal truth, which 
were to take form and become manifest in his own 
career and finally assume proportions destined to 
revolutionize the religious world, turning long-es- 
tablished ecclesiastical theories into practical dem- 
onstrations of pure Christianity. 

He was uncomfortable in the garb of a clergy- 
man, and the unnatural mannerisms of the average 
preacher were so repulsive to him that his very na- 
ture protested against them. He had no well-de- 
fined views upon the outward form a clergyman’s 
life should assume; in fact, he was so intensely in- 
terested in knowing the truth, and in proclaiming 
it simply that he had no time or inclination to be 
other than his natural self. 

Thus John Hatton became a living exponent of 
the great truth that a man may be a preacher, even 
a great preacher, without becoming a clergyman. 
He may be a great herald of the truth and at the 
102 


THE TRANSITION 


same time be a plain man, a natural man, a man 
among men. 

John Hatton was one of a great host of such men 
who, in this crisis, had arisen, not only to proclaim 
the dawn of a new day, the very fact of whose ap- 
pearing marks a most significent trend in the af- 
fairs of the church, viz : the passing of the clergy 
and the transition of religion from theory to prac- 
tice. 

To a large degree the priestly idea has prevailed 
throughout the religious world. The clergy has 
been regarded as a peculiar office, separate and 
apart from the great body of the people ; the clergy- 
man is looked upon, to a greater or less degree, as 
a mediator between man and God, and, in the mind 
of the masses, is supposed to live and move in a 
different atmosphere from other people, and to do 
a work all peculiar to himself, in which the '‘laity” 
can have no part. 

It is a self-evident truth that, in a natural church, 
in a natural religion, which, after all, can be the 
only divine religion, there can be no distinctions be- 
tween Christ’s followers, save natural ones, made 
by the difference in talents bestowed by nature; 
these talents in no way affect our acceptance with 
God, or our duty and privilege of approaching Him. 
Every one must make his own sacrifice, every one 
must perform his own consecration, every one must 
himself commune with his Maker; no priest or 
preacher can do these things for you. 

103 


THE TRANSITION 


There is no reason, then, why any one should 
wear the title “Reverend.” To be a Christian gen- 
tleman, is the highest attainment possible to mortal 
man. To wear the crown and to hold the scepter, 
which by divine right belong to every Christian 
gentleman, is to be clothed with a royalty that 
fadeth not away. The glory of this, too, rests 
upon the fact that it is within the reach of all. It is 
an inherent right, vouchsafed to every one. It is 
not inherited, it cannot be bought with money, it 
cannot be conferred by men; it comes by virtue of 
our personal relationship to God through Jesus 
Christ, and is within reach of every one. It is the 
divine aristocracy of this earth, the royal family of 
the universe, dwelling in the humblest homes of 
the poor as well as the splendid mansions of the 
rich, but always clothed with the purple and fine 
linen of transcendent faith, hope and love. 

Plain “Mister,” when applied to a man in this 
high sense, is the most honorable title. 

The idea of the clergy is passing out of the 
thought and life of the church to-day; the logical 
sequence of events, the demand of the times, the 
very “survival of the fittest,” are all conspiring to 
bring this about. 

In this advancing, practical age, there is no real, 
vital, necessary place for the average “parson” and, 
with the passing of the non-essentials, the “clergy” 
is no longer in demand. 

For preachers who are more than clergymen, for 
104 


THE TRANSITION 


preachers who have a great soul-message for hu- 
manity, the supply is by no means equal to the de- 
mands; never before had such men the opportunity 
for usefulness, and never before were such men so 
highly appreciated, as to-day. 

The prevailing opinion — at least the orthodox 
views — regarding the clergyman are, that he is 
‘divinely called,” must be especially prepared and 
at length, when this preparation is completed, he is, 
by the laying on of hands, made ‘Teverend,” more 
holy and sacred than other men. These processes 
work an outward change in the man, and separate 
him from the masses. He cultivates his “clerical” 
voice and manner, he wears a different garb, and 
he lives and moves in a different atmosphere. He 
is thus, by custom and expectation, almost forced 
to live an assumed and artificial life, and when he 
does lay aside these things and comes down upon 
the earth and is natural and real, some of the con- 
servatives are ever ready to cry, “He is degrading 
his calling,” even as they said of Christ, “He is the 
friend of publicans and sinners.” 

Genuine goodness is never to be distinguished by 
outward forms and manners, but by inward princi- 
ples. The badge of one’s real sanctity is graven 
upon the heart, not cut into the coat collar. 

The unnaturalness of the clerical office has ren- 
dered it weak and effeminate. In the practical af- 
fairs of life, no set of men have so little influence 
as clergymen. True, many clergymen have been 

105 


THE TRANSITION 


and are mighty factors in the affairs of life, but 
it is in their ability as men, or by their power of 
thought and expression, that they have supremacy 
and not in their clerical office. Is not the bony, side- 
whiskered, overpious, sanctimonious parson the ob- 
ject of jest and ridicule and has he not been a good 
subject for the cartoonist and jokemaker? 

The clergy is passing because it is not in touch 
with the great masses of the people. 

Christ was gladly heard by the common people; 
not so the modern parson. 

Let us have preachers and preaching, but deliver 
us from the reverend clergymen. Let preachers be 
only men — plain, simple, natural men, as God 
makes them, and confer upon them no man-made 
distinctions. 

When God ‘‘calls” a man to preach he “calls” 
a congregation to hear him. He “calls” to the min- 
istry just as he “calls” to every other useful work, 
simply by natural endowment for the work, and 
by giving one a heart and conscience to do that 
work. 

In this sense, and this alone, John Hatton was 
“called” to the ministry. 

The ministry of this type, instead of passing, is 
but well on its way, with some noble examples al- 
ready arriving. 


io6 


CHAPTER X. 


John Hatton’s call to Princeton was announced 
in the church paper at Nashville, and the Associated 
Press dispatches gave a brief but graphic account 
of the sensational happenings in Princeton in con- 
nection with the affair. 

Commencement Day was drawing nigh, and the 
same professors and students who some days be- 
fore had “happened” to meet and suggest that 
Prof. Bain write Dr. Ferguson concerning John 
Hatton’s unsoundness in theology, again met and 
agreed that inasmuch as the call had been extended 
it would be unwise to interfere at present. How- 
ever, all were of the opinion that Hatton’s ministry 
in Princeton would be of short duration, for cer- 
tainly one holding such heretical views could not 
remain long in that pulpit. They would watch 
and wait, and should the question ever come up be- 
fore presbytery they would remember and have 
ready to present that which they had planned to 
communicate to Dr. Ferguson before John Hatton 
received the call. 

Commencement week came and passed without 
anything out of the ordinary happening. But few 
of the students had much to say to Hatton, his 
classmates maintaining an air of superiority, and 
107 


THE TRANSITION 


feeling within themselves that Hatton had had an 
honor thrust upon him, which his inability would 
soon remove and send him to “his own place.’’ 

During the last week of Hatton’s stay in Leb- 
anon, he and Dr. Haley were at different times seen 
talking together. Their manner was free, easy 
and natural; they appeared to be speaking confi- 
dentially. 

John Hatton received and accepted the call to 
the Princeton church, reserving one week after 
commencement for a visit to the “home folks.” 

In their quaint way of expressing it, the “nora- 
tion” was sent out through all the “borderside” 
around the home of his boyhood, that John had 
graduated and would preach in his home church 
next Sunday. 

He arrived home on Saturday afternoon. 

A large company of the neighbors gathered that 
evening to see the boy who had grown up among 
them, and was now going to preach in a “town 
church, away off at Princeton.” 

The boys and girls with whom he had played in 
childhood, now grown up into the rough, crude, 
but sturdy and genuine simplicity of honest back- 
woods country life, were there to see “John,” and 
to him they were only the plain “Ben,” “Ike,” 
“Charley,” “Dick,” and “Bill,” only the plain 
“Maggie,” “Patsy,” “Mattie,” “Jennie” and “Lucy” 
that they were in the days when they sat on the 
benches of the little country schoolhouse. 

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“As near as I kin make it out, it is sumthin like 
Barkyneezer.” — Page no. 

{Facing page tog.) 


THE TRANSITION 


Among the company was *‘EIder'’ Asey Austin- 
brook, the local ‘'hardshell” Baptist preacher. His 
title, “Elder,” and his office of preacher, he be- 
lieved to be foreordained. His grandfather, Billy 
Austinbrook, and his father Daniel Austinbrook, 
likewise were elders before him ; Asey had no other 
authority or preparation for his ministry than the 
foreordained heritage of the Austinbrook fami^ 

Elder Asey could scarcely read plain En 
but all his lack of knowledge was more than 
up in crude egotism and unadulterated gall. 

He was always armed with many profound i 
tions, and was ready to expatiate at length i 
biblical doctrines of the most abstruse nature 
came at John Hatton loaded and ready for hea 
argument. 

The first question “Elder” Austinbrook put 
John was after this manner: “Now, young ma 
you have been off to skule, and I propose to zan 
min ye, and see what ye know. Ye may not kno\' 
it, but I’m a Greek skoller myself. I kin read 
Greek ’bout as good as I kin the Hinglish. The 
Greek, ye know, is them little funny letters (re- 
ferring to italics) drapped in here and there in the 
Scriptures. Kin you read Greek, John?” 

“Oh, yes. Brother Austinbrook, I read it a lit- 
tle,” answered John. 

“Well, that’s what I ’lowed when I driv up,” 
remarked Elder Asey. 


109 


THE TRANSITION 


‘"And now,” he continued, ''as you can read the 
Greek, I want ter know if you can tell me who 
Melchiseldick’s daddy wuz?” 

"Well, Fm sorry to say,” answered John, "that 
I do not know.” 

"I didn’t ’low ye did when I axed ye,” replied 
Elder, "and now, Fll tell ye sumthin’ ye don’t 
Mind you, I got part of this frum the 
:, and the other jist come to me by my rea- 
' powers.” 

iOw, don’t forgit this, fer it will be worth lots 
,” he continued. "It wuz this way: Melchisel- 
s daddy was born in the land of Nod, jist back 
sFiagry Falls. He growed up and married one 
Cjleopatry’s darters, and Melchiseldick wuz their 
it, last and only born. I don’t know edzactly 
.lat his name wuz, for it’s mighty hard to make 
It from the Greek, as the characters is not plum 
xtinct, but as near as I kin make it out, it is 
iumthin like Barkyneezer. 

"Now,” he went on, "Barkyneezer, as we will 
call him, got into a fight with the Injuns, and they 
fit and fit and fit till, they fell in the Niagry River; 
and still they fit and swum, and swum and fit, till 
:hey all went over the Falls and wuz drowned and 
tharby hangs another p’int that ’stablishes the doc- 
trine of emershun.” 

"I have never heard it explained that way before,” 
remarked John Hatton, "but, to say the least, it is 
quite interesting.” 


no 


THE TRANSITION 


didn’t ’low you’d ever hearn it before. That’s 
the reason I told ye,” said Austinbrook. 

Faint traces of a smile played over the faces and 
twinkled in the eyes of the company, and pretty 
soon the Rev. Austinbrook arose, saying: “As I 
have a’ ’p’intment at Brushy Fork to-morrer, I 
must git on home, and git to bed. Good-by.” 

John Hatton shook hands with Elder Austin- 
brook, telling him he was very glad to have met 
him again, and that he had thoroughly enjoyed 
his talk. No doubt he had. 

Late in the night, when John was sweetly sleep- 
ing in the same bed in which his mother had 
tucked him away so many times in his earlier life, 
while he was sleeping and dreaming of other days, 
and again playing “Bull-pen,” or “Anthony-over” 
with his schoolmates, his father and mother were 
yet awake, and talking. 

Mrs. Hatton said: “Well, we have worked 
mighty hard to help John get through school. We 
have all denied ourselves of lots of things to help 
him along, but he hasn’t got the Tig head’ a bit. 
He is the same old John, and when he came home 
to-day and put his stout arms around me and kissed 
me, he seemed just as sweet as he was when he was 
a little tiny fellow; to know that he loves me and 
appreciates what we have done for him, more than 
pays up for it all. Guess I’m about ready to die 
now, for I’m satisfied.” 

“Oh, pshaw, Sophia !” 

Ill 


said Robert Hatton. 


THE TRANSITION 


*^Don’t talk about dying. You women folks are all 
so sentimental ! Think about living. I want to 
live forty years yet, and see what that youngster is 
going to do, for I tell you now, our work for him 
hasn’t been wasted — he will be heard from. When 
we are old, we will go and live with him and he 
will take care of us and make it mighty easy and 
comfortable for us, too — don’t you forget it. He is 
made out of the right kind of stuff. The world 
never did, and never will, hear of this stock of Hat- 
tons being ‘scaly’; John will never forget his 
mother and father.” 

A large crowd gathered to hear John Hatton 
preach on Sunday. His sermon was plain, simple, 
direct, comforting to those who heard it. 

The following Saturday he went to Princeton 
and took up residence at the Lucile. 

As was expected, the following day the church 
was packed to its seating capacity. The tension 
was high, but Hatton showed himself master of the 
situation. He did no extraordinary thing; he made 
no blunders ; he said nothing startling. He preached 
from the text, “The love of Christ constraineth 
us,” and he moved his audience to tears as he dwelt 
upon the unselfish love of the Man of Galilee. 

When Hatton first preached in Princeton, the 
people went away admiring him; the second time, 
they went away loving him. 

At the evening service it was announcd that on 
the following Tuesday a reception would be given 
112 


THE TRANSITION 

in honor of the new minister, to be held at the 
Lucile. 

Tuesday evening came, and the occasion was the 
most brilliant social event Princeton had ever 
known. So far as John Hatton and Eleanor Tar- 
vin were concerned, only one thing happened. 

They were alone in the bay window of the main 
parlor, completely hidden from view by a giant 
potted fern. 

To John it was a wondrous thing, this strange, 
sweet love that welled up within his heart. It was 
as though a new life were opened unto him, a 
life, not alone of earnest purpose, but of exquisite 
hopes and fulfilled desires. 

His love shone in his eyes as he gazed at the 
woman who had, unconsciously, wrought this mar- 
velous change in him, gazed until her eyes refused 
to meet his. 

She seemed the fairest, purest thing on earth as 
she sat, silent, with bent head before him. 

“Eleanor,” he said, and there was a world of 
tenderness and longing in his voice, “Eleanor — ^you 
know !” 

One fleeting glance, and his lips sought hers. 


113 


CHAPTER XL 


Real friends are not made so much as they are 
found, and in S. D. Langdon, usually referred to 
as Sam, John Hatton found a friend. John Hat- 
ton has had many professed, but false friends; he 
has had a few open enemies, and many secret ones; 
he has found a few true friends, among them none 
more faithful and constant than Langdon. 

Shortly after John and Eleanor had avowed their 
love for each other the party began to disperse, the 
Tarvins being among the first to leave. 

Sam Langdon remained after the others had 
gone and invited Hatton , to walk up the street with 
him to Hop Houston’s drug store. 

There were no barriers between these kindred 
spirits ; they understood each other. 

In many a dark and trying hour since then, John 
Hatton might have given up and completely sur- 
rendered had it not been that Sam Langdon stood 
by him. Many, many a time when separated by dis- 
tance, Sam Langdon has fought John Hatton’s 
battles, and always won. When Hatton was blue 
and despondent, longing for companionship, com- 
fort and advice, Langdon has left his business, dis- 
regarding his own interests, and traveled hundreds 
of miles to lend his friend a helping hand. 

1 14 


THE TRANSITION 


No man ever loved another man more than Hat- 
ton loves Langdon, and he is never happier than 
when Langdon is by his side. In these latter days 
when fame and fortune are his, he never loses an 
opportunity to give due credit to Langdon. 

As has been said before, Hop Houston stood 
high in Masonic circles; Sam Langdon was also a 
Mason of high degree. 

As these three men were pleasantly talking in 
Houston’s store, Langdon remarked : ‘‘Hop, we 
never ask any one to join the Masons, you know, 
but if Brother Hatton should request it, you and I 
could take up his petition, could we not ?” 

‘‘We certainly could,” replied Houston, and con- 
tinuing he said, “and as the parson seems to be a 
man of decision and action, I have an idea that he 
will get busy in this line, for there is a meeting 
next week, at which the matter could be presented.” 

“Well, gentlemen, I will be frank and say that I 
desire to be a Mason, if found worthy. I will sign 
the application now, if you can furnish me with a 
blank,” replied Hatton. 

Houston produced the blank petition at once, 
which was duly signed and presented to the next 
meeting of the Princeton lodge. 

Before parting that evening Langdon said: “I 
am glad you desire to go into Masonry. I hope 
you will get through all right, for Pm sure you will 
like it. It will be worth a great deal to you. We 
have a fine lot of fellows in our lodge, and I want 

115 


THE TRANSITION 


them to know you; they will stand by you. You 
will need them, for you are not going to have 
smooth sailing here. Colonel Tarvin is a Mason, 
and I think Miss Eleanor would be if she could. 
I hope some day she may be a Mason’s wife.” 

Then these two strong young men silently 
grasped each other’s hand, and looked each other 
squarely in the face. 



n6 


CHAPTER XII. 


John Hatton’s ministry in Princeton was of less 
than a year’s duration. 

His preaching was attended by all classes of peo- 
ple and the size of his audience was limited only by 
the capacity of the church in which he spoke. 

His sermons were all simple, concise, forceful, 
logical, naturally eloquent, pointed and direct. 
While each discourse was complete within itself, 
yet there was unity of plan and purpose through- 
out all his preaching, ever leading up to a grand 
culmination, the great theme in his thought and 
purpose was the '^Unity of Christendom” 

He had no patience with or favor for the sec- 
tarian divisions of Protestantism, and maintained 
that the denominational strife among the churches 
was not only an open violation of the will of Christ, 
as expressed in his prayer, recorded in the seven- 
teenth chapter of John, but was the greatest hin- 
drance to an early and effective evangelization of the 
world. 

In his preparation and delivery of sermons, he 
utterly ignored all established tenets and formu- 
lated creeds, save as, perchance, his interpretation of 
the plain Scriptures, which alone he took as his rule 
117 


THE TRANSITION 


of faith and practice, happened to be in accord with 
those tenets or creeds. 

This style of preaching was something new in 
Princeton, attracting much attention, exciting much 
comment and eliciting general favor, except upon 
the part of Dr. Ferguson, Mrs. Tarvin and their 
small following. 

All fair and honest minds which came under the 
personal influence of John Hatton’s teachings nat- 
urally accepted it as truth, for it was self-evident, 
unanswerable. 

His popularity soon spread beyond the radius of 
his personal ministry. Numerous reports of his 
sermons appeared in different papers and caused 
criticism, pro and con. 

Because the most cherished traditions and pre- 
cious doctrines of his church were being assailed, 
Dr. Ferguson soon became open and pronounced in 
his condemnation of the young man’s teaching. In 
this he had the determined support of Mrs. Tarvin. 

An article by Dr. Ferguson, calling attention to 
John Hatton’s heretical tendencies, soon appeared 
in the denominational paper at Nashville. The 
week following, another article from the pen of 
Prof. Stainer of the Seminary appeared in the same 
paper, in which he urged the great necessity at that 
peculiar time, of loyalty to their denominational 
standards, using John Hatton as a dangerous ex- 
ample, holding him up as an exponent of the 
thought rapidly growing among the churches, and 
ii8 


THE TRANSITION 


very dangerous in its tendency. He also called at- 
tention to the fact that this heresy was discovered 
in Hatton before he left the Seminary, and that 
some of the faculty and a few of his classmates had 
thought of so informing the brethren at Princeton, 
but did not do so as he was called to that church 
earlier than they had expected. They then decided 
to wait, hoping that under the influence of Dr. 
Ferguson he would get back into line and render 
valuable service to the cause of their denomination. 
Seeing that he had failed in this, Prof. Stainer felt 
that for the safety of the cause they represented and 
for the future of the church in Princeton, presby- 
terial action should be taken at the earliest possible 
moment; that John Hatton should be forced to 
declare his loyalty to the Confession of Faith and 
hold forth the doctrines taught therein, or be ex- 
communicated from the communion and fellowship 
of the denomination. 

These articles met with general approval among 
the ministers and elders throughout the presbytery, 
and it became generally understood that the next 
meeting of Princeton Presbytery would be unusu- 
ally interesting because of a heresy trial, a thing 
which had not occurred for many generations. 

John Hatton’s friends and enemies anxiously 
awaited some reply from him concerning these 
things which were taking place. 

He maintained a characteristic silence, which was 
mysterious to his friends and annoying to his ene- 
119 


THE TRANSITION 


mies. He went along with his work as though noth- 
ing unexpected or unusual was happening. 

John Hatton differed from other clergymen not 
only as a preacher, but as a “pastor.” 

He knew nothing of and utterly ignored the 
modern “pastoral idea.” He learned from the New 
Testament that the Elders in the early church 
founded by the Holy Spirit and maintained by the 
Apostles, were the bishops, or pastors. The preach- 
ers were the evangelists, the heralds of the glad 
tidings of salvation, the evangels of light and lib- 
erty, whether they preached from time to time in 
one place or went from place to place declaring the 
Word. 

His ruling passion was the restoration of the 
apostolic order of things and precedent or present 
custom made no difference to him; he only sought 
to know the truth, to discover the right way and 
then fearlessly proceeded to do what he thought 
was right, regardless of the consequences. 

Because John Hatton, then, was not a pastor in 
the modern sense, those who were looking for faults 
and shortcomings made such objection to him. 

True, whenever and wherever he was needed, in 
times of trouble or distress, he was ever ready, at 
any cost or sacrifice to do his duty. In times of 
sorrow and grief, he “wept with them that wept.” 

He wasted no time running hither and thither on 
foolish errands to please the fancy or gratify the 
whims of chronic grumblers, contentious dames, 
120 


THE TRANSITION 


giddy youths or exacting old maids. He was too 
busy doing real, vital, living, permanent things, to 
become a mere automaton, bobbing up and bobbing 
down at the beck and call of a lot of irresponsibles. 

In his social life he was real, humanly real, and 
had his likes and dislikes, his personal friends. He 
was an enemy to no one, but naturally found some 
people more congenial to him than were others. 
He rejoiced with them that rejoiced with him and 
took genuine pleasure in the happiness and success 
of all ; in other words, he was just human. 

At the end of six months the situation in Prince- 
ton, with reference to John Hatton, was as follows : 
Everybody acknowledged he was an extraordinary 
preacher, a rather peculiar and strikingly unique 
man; the majority genuinely admired him. 

A few people bitterly hated him, and would take 
advantage of every opportunity to do him injury; 
a few people were bound to him by ties of friend- 
ship as strong as those which bound David and 
Jonathan, and one beautiful, devoted soul loved him 
more than she loved her own life. 


^21 


CHAPTER XIII. 


The courtship of John Hatton and Eleanor Tar- 
vin was in no sense conventional. 

John Hatton had never been in that empty thing 
called ‘"society.” His nature was too intense to ad- 
mit of his wasting precious time in talking soft non- 
sense, and in doing those foolish nothings charac- 
teristic of the “smart” set. 

Miss Tarvin, too, was one of that intense, but 
practical temperament. Her early life was spent in 
gratifying her inherent desire for culture and de- 
velopment. She was always a student; whatever 
she did, was with all earnestness. 

So, when she and John Hatton met, it was the 
coming together of kindred spirits. They loved. 
Their love was as natural and inevitable as the re- 
sponsive opening of the flower to the silent wooing 
of the warm sunlight and gentle rain. 

During the first few months of John Hatton’s 
residence in Princeton, he was much in company 
with Miss Tarvin. While this was very objection- 
able to Mrs. Tarvin, she made no open protest, con- 
fining her comment upon the situation to Dr. Fergu- 
son, in whom she fully trusted and upon whom she 
relied to assist her in carrying out her designs. 

122 


THE TRANSITION 


Dr. Ferguson’s calls at the Tarvin home became 
so frequent that the suspicions of the young couple 
were aroused. 

One beautiful evening in the early part of Sep- 
tember the two young people were in a rustic arbor, 
a veritable bower of honeysuckle, happy in each 
other’s love. 

Like that strange, mysterious tinge of melancholy 
that gives pathos to the first days of autumn beauty 
so in some strange way there was intermingled with 
their joy a premonition that they should soon be 
made to drink the cup of sorrow. A night-hawk 
shrieked in the woods back of the orchard, a pea- 
fowl screamed from one of the big trees in the 
pasture, a horse neighed far down in the meadow, 
in the distance a dog was barking; then all was 
still and earth and sky were silent in the moonlight 
and shadow. From the cabin door of “Uncle” 
Stephen’s and “Aunt” Eliza’s home there issued, in 
plaintive notes, sung by “Aunt” Eliza, that old 
plantation song: 

"'Swing low, sweet chariot/' 

The song was so weird as to almost make John 
Hatton’s blood run cold, and Eleanor, with quiver- 
ing body, nestled close to him. 

He gently placed his arm about her, and her hot 
tears fell upon his hand. 

“Why are you weeping, my darling?” 

“I do not know, but everything seems so strange 
123 


THE TRANSITION 


to-night. I am happy, and yet I am sad. Aunt 
Eliza’s song — the very moonlight itself — seem full 
of sadness.” 

“Little one,” said he, “are we not happy to have 
met, and to have loved? We were made for each 
other, my darling, and, in this world, and the world 
to be, we are and shall ever be one.” 

Never since the beginning of all things have lov- 
ing assurances failed to calm woman’s fears, and 
soon Eleanor was content. 

John told her of his early aspirations and strug- 
gles, and confided to her all his plans; she listened, 
never doubting for an instant that he would sur- 
mount all obstacles and achieve great ends. 

“John,” she said, “are you perfectly, perfectly 
comfy ?” 

“Perfectly, perfectly,” he laughed, holding her 
closer to him. 

“But,” nodding her head sagely, “doesn’t a man 
have to smoke to be perfectly comfy — like dad?” 

“I don’t smoke, dear heart.” 

“Oh !” and she shook a reproving finger, “but you 
do. I’ve seen you.” 

“Recently?” 

“Well — no; but you did,” with another affirma- 
tive nod. 

“I did, dear; but that was before.” 

“Before what?” 

“Before you entered into your kingdom.” 

She looked at him with questioning eyes. 

124 


THE TRANSITION 


“Have they talked you out of it?” 

“They? Who?” 

“Sisters Thomas and Hall,” smiling archly. 

“No,” he said, “decidedly, no.” 

“Do you think that a clergyman shouldn’t 
smoke ?” 

“The clergyman himself should decide, dear 
one.” 

“Then, why?” she persisted. 

“Because,” very gravely. 

“That’s a woman’s reason,” she pouted. “You’re 
infringing on my prerogatives.” 

“Faulty logic, sweetheart. Woman’s preroga- 
tives are within the dispensation of man,” and he 
kissed her. 

“Yes; but ” 

“Dear,” he said, his lips on hers, “not since the 
hope of some day holding you in my arms seemed 
possible of fulfillment has a cigar been between my 
lips. I could not touch your sweet lips while my 
own were soiled with tobacco.” 

They sat for a while longer, just two lovers, 
but all the dreams of the past, all the joys of the 
present, all the hopes of the future seemed within 
their reach. 


125 


CHAPTER XIV. 


‘Ts you asleep, Steve?” asked Aunt ’Liza some 
minutes after she had finished singing, and shut 
the cabin door. 

‘‘Cose I ain’t asleep. I’d lack ter know how I 
c’u’d sleep wid yo’ a-squallin’ dat old song lack yo’ 
bin doin’, but ef yo’ shet yo’ mouf ’twon’t be long 
fo I is asleep,” answered Uncle Stephen. 

“Listen at me, niggah,” said Aunt Eliza, “I’s 
got sump’en to tell yo’, and it’s pow’ful ’portant, 
too. I wants to talk to yo’ soon as I gits to bed, ef 
yo’ can keep dat sleepy head o’ yourn awake dat 
long.” 

“Well, gwan now, and do yo’ talking, fo’ I ain’t 
got no time to wase listenin’ to no foolishness o’ 
yourn,” said Stephen. 

“Mind what yo’ sayin’, niggah, ’tain’t no foolish- 
ness I’m talkin’ ’bout,” said Aunt ’Liza, “it’s ’bout 
Mas’ John Hatton and my baby. Doan yo’ know, ole 
Missus an’ dat ole preacher Ferguson done fix it all 
up how dey is gwine make dat young preacher leave 
town and my baby fo’eveh, an’ fo’eveh !” 

“Well, fo’ de Lawd, what does yo’ t’ink o’ dat !” 
said Uncle Stephen. 


126 


THE TRANSITION 


“Yas, Steve,” Aunt Eliza went on, “Fs heard ’em 
talkin’ agin and agin. Dey done say how he’s 
gwine ter be fotch up befo’ de percemetary, and 
tried for haireasy; den, dey say, he kain’t preach 
no mo. Dey is gwine to start some bad tales ’bout 
’im. Dey’s boun’ to ruin ’im, dey’s boun’ to ruin 
’im, an’ ef one way won’t work, den dey will try 
a nudder.” 

“Well, Lizy,” said Uncle Stephen, “what yo’ 
gwine do?” 

“Dis is what Fs gwine do, and dis is what yo’ 
gwine do, too,” answered Aunt Eliza. “Yo’ jis listen 
at what I say, and den go do it. You go see Mas’ 
John Hatton to-morrer mawnin’ and tell ’im yo’ 
t’inks de fish’ll be bitin’ now, an ax ’im ef he 
doan want to go fishin’ wid yo’. Ef he say ^no,’ 
den whisper to ’im dat he mus’ go, fo’ yo’ got 
sumpen to tell ’im dat’s mighty seris and den, when 
yo’ gits down on de bank ob de ribber, tell ’im ’bout 
what I done tole yo’.” 

“Fll do dat berry t’ing to-morrer,” said Uncle 
Stephen, “but what yo’ gwine do, Lizy?” 

“Fs gwine see my baby to-morrer when ole 
Missus goes to town, an’ den Fll tell her all ’bout 
it,” said Aunt Eliza. 

“But, Lawd, Lawd, what’s gwine happen when 
all dis gits started!” said Uncle Stephen. “Jis to 
t’ink who’s mixed up in all dis,” he continued, “da 
is ole Missus huh se’f, and she’s mighty hedset when 
she gits started; den da is Miss Elbe, an’ she is 
127 


THE TRANSITION 


wuss’en her mammy when she gits strung up; and 
da is dat young preachah man, and dey say he conies 
fum fightin’ stock, way back ; and den da is dat ole 
preachah man, but he doan 'mount to much; but 
den da is de Gunnel ! Oh, Lawd, dey bettah not git 
him riled, fo’ ef dey does de debbil will be to pay, 
sho!" 

‘‘ ’Membah what you got to do to-morrer, an’ 
go to sleep, niggah,” said Aunt Eliza. 

“Go to sleep yose’f, yo’ cullud angel yo’,” said 
Uncle Stephen ; “yo’ done got me so wucked up dat 
ef I do go sleep I’ll be dreamin’ ’bout wah times 
agin. Guess I’ll jis lie awake all night, and t’ink 
’bout de trouble what’s a cornin’ fo’ Jurden sho am a 
hard road to trabble.” 

By the middle of the forenoon of the next day 
Uncle Stephen had arranged with John Hatton to 
go fishing in the afternoon. 

The same afternoon Mrs. Tarvin drove to Prince- 
ton, leaving Eleanor at home alone. 

At the same time then that afternoon two faith- 
ful creatures, whose exterior was black, but whose 
purposes were as pure and whose souls as white as 
the driven snow, were doing what they believed to 
be their duty in informing John Hatton and 
Eleanor Tarvin of the secret plans being worked 
against them to bring about the downfall of the 
young preacher and to blight the happiness of the 
two young lives forever. 

When all the pages of history have been searched 
128 


THE TRANSITION 


through in quest of noble examples of loyalty and 
fidelity, it will be found that the old-time colored 
people of the south stand second to none. 

Though bound by the shackles of slavery, with 
their owners and the younger white men off at war, 
fighting, too, for the perpetuity of the bondage of 
the blacks, the colored men and women were left 
behind to till the soil and when, by a secret agree- 
ment and a single uprising, all the families of the 
whites might have been destroyed, be it said to the 
eternal credit of the blacks, that they remained 
faithful to their trust. 

And after the war was over, many of those dear 
old colored people, knowing the love borne them by 
their former masters, remained with them, loyal to 
the end. 

Those old ^Tlack mammies” loved the white chil- 
dren whom they nursed, even as they loved their 
own lives. Those old colored men of the south 
loved their masters and remained constant to them 
until the peculiar type passed away with that time 
which is now a golden dream. 

Thus we can account for the loyalty of Uncle 
Stephen and Aunt Eliza to Colonel Tarvin and Miss 
Eleanor. Though Uncle Stephen’s head was grow- 
ing gray, yet he was brave and true and had it been 
necessary would have died for his master, with 
whom he had lived since boyhood and whose for- 
tunes he had followed with intense interest, through 
bondage and in freedom, through war and in peace. 

129 


THE TRANSITION 


Uncle Stephen and Aunt Eliza were both born 
'Tarvins.” Aunt Eliza had been Eleanor’s ‘‘black 
mammy,” and she always maintained that her baby 
was more “Tarvin” than “Radcliff.” 

John Hatton and Uncle Stephen had cast their 
hooks, when the old negro turned to the young 
preacher and said, “Mas’ John, you knows dat wife 
Lizy o’ mine?” 

“Yes, Uncle Stephen, what is it?” answered the 
preacher. 

“Well, suh,” said Stephen, “Lizy, she done tole 
me sump’en that I’s gwine tell yo’, ’cause it’s ’bout 
yo’ an’ Miss Elbe. Lizy she say she done bin lis- 
tenin’ at ole Missus an’ dat preachah man. Dr. Fer- 
guson, yo’ know, an’ she heard ’em sayin’ as how 
yo’ gwine be fotch up befo’ de percemetary, or 
sump’en lak dat, an’ dey is gwine try yo’ fo’ 
haireasy. Now yo’ may know what dat is, but I 
don’t. 

“But dat ain’t de wust. Mas’ John,” Uncle Ste- 
phen went on, “fo’ dey’s gwine try to make yo’ go 
on off fum heah, so’s yo’ kain’t see Miss Elbe no 
moah.” 

John Hatton was listening intently, taking in 
every word Uncle Stephen was saying, when a big 
trout took his hook, and pulled the cork under. He 
stood holding his fishing rod, and as the fish made 
for the middle of the stream, his reel began to 
sing, but he gave it no heed. 

“Good Lawd! Mas’ John,” exclaimed Uncle Ste- 
130 


THE TRANSITION 


phen, ‘‘listen at dat reel! Doan you heah dat mu- 
sic? Look at dat line, man, why doan you jeck?’^ 

Still John Hatton paid no attention to the fish, but 
mechanically held on to his rod. 

Then Uncle Stephen rushed up to him, and said : 
“Is yo’ parlized, Brudder Hatton? Gimme dat 
pole!” 

The old negro, who was an expert angler, reeled 
the fish up near to the bank, then allowed it to play 
back and forth until at last the trout was subdued 
and landed upon the bank. 

John Hatton was not interested in the catch, and 
soon as Uncle Stephen’s excitement was over, said : 
“Uncle Stephen, we will drive back to town.” 

“I’s sorry. Mas’ John, dat yo’ is so upset ’bout 
what I tole yo’, but I ’lowed yo’ oughter know 
’bout it,” said Uncle Stephen, “an’,” he continued, 
“Lizy, she put me up to do it, and say she gwine 
tell Miss Elbe, too. I ’low she done tole uh dis 
bery arternoon ’cause ole Missus ain’t at home, and 
she’ll hab a mighty good chance to talk wid ’er.” 

“That’s all right. Uncle Stephen; I’m very glad 
you have told me,” said the preacher, “for I have 
suspected as much, but did not know positively. 
Let us be going, for I must see some parties in 
town soon as possible.” 

On the way home not a word passed between 
John Hatton and Uncle Stephen until they reached 
the outskirts of the town, when John said : “Uncle 
Stephen, I believe you are worthy of my confidence, 
I3I 


THE TRANSITION 

and I am going to trust you. I believe you and 
Aunt Eliza are true friends to Miss Eleanor and 
me, and we may need your help in the days to 
come. I thank you for what you have done for us, 
and shall have more to say to you later. Now, 
please drive to the hotel, and we will say good-by 
for the present.” 

After driving John Hatton to the hotel, Uncle 
Stephen went directly to the Tarvin home. Aunt 
Eliza met him at the stable, and talked with him 
as he was putting away the horse and buggy. 

‘‘Did yo’ tell ’im, Steve?” was her first question. 

“Yes, I tole hm, Lizy. Did you tell huh?” re- 
sponded Uncle Stephen. 

“Yes, I tole ’uh, Steve, and she didn't say a 
word. Huh sweet face turned white as snow, and 
'uh lil lips quivered like a leaf in de win, and she 
jes' folded her lil ban's togedder and look up to'ads 
heben like she wuz a-prayin'. I couldn't stan' it, 
Steve, an' I put my arms 'roun' 'uh, and jes' cried 
out loud, an' say ‘God bless my baby,' and cum 
awa' and lef 'uh by 'uh se'f,” said Aunt Eliza. 

“Mas' John didn't say nothin' nuther,” said 
Uncle Stephen, “ 'cep' when we wuz cornin' into 
town he 'lowed he wuz mighty glad I tole 'im, and 
he t’ink me and yo' gwine be mighty good fren’s to 
Miss Elbe and 'im, and they gwine trus us, an' 
speks us to hep 'em out lots when de trubble 
cums.” 

“Dat we is, niggah, dat we is I” said Aunt Eliza. 

132 


THE TRANSITION 


‘We’s boff Tarvins, and my baby is a Tarvin, and 
she loves Mas’ John Hatton, an’ he’s gwine have 
’uh, ef we have to steal ’uh fur ’im. Does yo’ heah 
dat, Steve?” 

‘‘I sho does,” said Uncle Stephen, ‘‘an’ yo’ can 
’pend ’on dis ole niggah, fus, las, an’ all de time. 
I’s reddy fo’ wah agin, ef dey wants it. Say, Lizy, 
git dat fish outer de buggy, an’ fix it fo’ Miss Elbe’s 
suppah. Maby she can eat sum uv it, an’ maby she 
cain’t, bless ’uh lil heart!” 


133 


CHAPTER XV. 


About 5 o’clock the same afternoon Sam Lang- 
don answered the telephone in his office, saying: 
“Meet me here at seven-thirty this evening, and we 
will have a private talk.” 

It was in response to John Hatton who had called 
from the Lucile, saying he was very anxious to see 
Langdon on a very important matter, and as early 
as convenient. 

The two men met, and Hatton related in detail 
what Uncle Stephen had told him. 

Langdon sat in silence for a few moments, and 
then said : “Now, John, go to the hotel, calm your- 
self if possible, and go to bed. This is not the time 
for us to talk, for you are too excited. Forget for 
the present, if possible, all that has happened. 
Leave it to me, and let us see how things will work 
out.” 

“Very well,” said Hatton, “I shall try to do as 
you say. It is very gracious of you to take my bur- 
dens upon your shoulders, but I know you to be 
my friend and in present circumstances no doubt 
you are better able to handle the situation than I 
am. My case is in your hands, and whatever you 
do will meet with my approval. Good night.” 

134 


THE TRANSITION 


‘‘Good night, I will call you to-morrow about ten 
o’clock. Rest as much as possible, so as to be ready 
for anything that may come up,” said Langdon 
as Hatton went out of his office. 

Among all the young ladies in Princeton Miss 
Zanka Fulton was perhaps the closest and most con- 
fiden^al friend of Eleanor Tarvin. Miss Fulton’s 
home Was in Boston, she and Eleanor having met 
and betome friends during Eleanor’s school days. 

Through Eleanor’s influence Miss Fulton had 
been giv^n a position in Princeton College as teacher 
of elocutpn and dramatic art. Miss Fulton boarded 
in the hohe of a prominent Princeton family, and 
she and Eleanor were often together. 

After hearing Aunt Eliza’s story, Eleanor felt 
that it woud be torture for her to remain alone. 
She felt thaVshe must be with Zanita, and open her 
heart to her.\ 

So, calminV herself, soon after Aunt Eliza had 
left her alone, Vhe called Zanita over the phone, and 
said : “Dear, iViust see you this evening, and called 
to ask whetheA^ou will be at home. Father and 
mother are bod away, and may not be home be- 
fore night. I hve no convenient way to get to 
town, as Uncle Jephen is very busy. Could you 
arrange some wayto drive out for me after supper? 
I just must see yW I will spend the night with 
you if you will let ie.” 

“If I will let you jy exclaimed Zanita. “You know 

\ 135 


THE TRANSITION 


I would be delighted, but listen, honey, I have an 
engagement to go driving with some friends. Mrs. 
Langdon and Miss Arnold asked me to go out with 
them after supper, and as there will be a vacant 
seat, we could drive out for you, if it suits them 
and I’m sure it will. I will call up Mrs. Langdon 
and ask her, and then I’ll call you.” 

Zanita called Mrs. Langdon, and found :hat it 
would be a pleasure for her and Miss Arnold to 
drive out to the Tarvin home for Eleanor. 

So, that evening, as John Hatton was leaving 
Sam Langdon’s office, Eleanor Tarvin waj starting 
to Princeton with Mrs. Langdon (San’s wife). 
Miss Arnold and Miss Fulton. 

Eleanor’s heart was very heavy. Shf had eaten 
a very light supper, taking only a very little of the 
fish Aunt Eliza had so lovingly prepar'd. 

The open air, the jolly companicAship of her 
friends, and the hope of seeing JoE Hatton that 
evening, cheered Eleanor’s heart anr within a few 
minutes she appeared her natural f.lf ; but within 
her soul there was deep sorrow, grr-'e apprehension 
and an unutterable anxiety. 

John Hatton was sitting on th veranda of the 
Lucile as the party of ladies dro^ by. They rec- 
ognized him, and involuntarily h signaled them to 
stop. 

He approached the carriage and after greeting 
the ladies, asked Miss Zanita vhether it would be 


136 


THE TRANSITION 

convenient for him to call for a few minutes that 
evening. 

Great was his surprise when Miss Fulton replied, 
rather coyly, saying : '‘Mr. Hatton, I am very sorry 
to tell you that Miss Eleanor and I have another 
engagement for this evening, and it will not be con- 
venient to see you.” 

John Hatton looked at her in blank astonish- 
ment, and uttered not a word. 

Then all the ladies laughed merrily and John felt 
relieved. 

Eleanor came to his rescue by tenderly saying: 
“Mr. Hatton, we have promised to spend the even- 
ing with Mrs. Langdon. Mr. Langdon desires to 
talk with me a few minutes, he says; but if you 
wish to see me before I return home, you may call 
to-morrow morning about eight-thirty, as I must 
start home at ten o’clock.” 

“Thank you, that will suit me, and you may ex- 
pect me at eight-thirty in the morning. Good 
night, ladies,” said the preacher. 

Sam Langdon had hailed the carriage as the 
ladies drove by his office, and asked them to stop 
for a while that evening at his home, as he desired 
to have a talk with Miss Tarvin. 

Meanwhile Langdon had held a conference with a 
few of his close friends of the “mystic tie,” those 
friends, too, whom he knew to be loyal to John 
Hatton, and had placed the whole situation in de- 
tail before them. 


137 


THE TRANSITION 


They then and there vowed together that they 
would stand by Hatton until the last, and would not 
see him defeated. They took into account the love 
affair between John and Eleanor, and pledged them- 
selves to unending loyalty to the two young people. 

John Hatton walked into the hotel and retired, 
wondering what Langdon had in mind and what 
he would say to Eleanor, but certain that in Lang- 
don’s hands his interests were safe and that 
Eleanor’s anxiety would in some measure be re- 
lieved by Langdon’s conversation. 

Sam Langdon and Eleanor Tarvin talked for a 
few minutes that evening in the parlor of Lang- 
don’s home. 

He simply said to her, “Miss Tarvin, you may 
not know it, but Brother Hatton has confided to 
me all his secrets. I know of the love you and he 
have for each other. , He has told me also of the 
difficulties in your way, and I simply want to tell 
you that he is not without loyal friends in Prince- 
ton. You need not worry; we will take care of his 
interests in the church, and some of us will stand 
by you and him until the end. You only have to 
wait and see what the future brings forth, and 
while it may be a long while, yet, I have no doubt 
it will bring happiness to you and the man you 
love.” 

Tears were in Eleanor’s eyes, tears of gratitude, 
as she tenderly said: “It is so good of you, Mr. 


138 


THE TRANSITION 


Langdon, to speak to me in this way, and I thank 
you.” 

That night Eleanor and Zanita did not sleep un- 
til long after twelve o’clock. They lay upon each 
other’s arms, and told to each other their loves, their 
fears, their hopes. 


139 


CHAPTER XVL 


At eight-thirty the next morning, John Hatton 
called to see Miss Tarvin, and they spent an hour 
in earnest conversation. 

In the face of the facts confronting them they 
both had the good practical judgment that pre- 
vented their giving way to feeling, and that led 
them to a sane consideration of the situation and 
to a very wise decision as to the course they should 
pursue. 

Colonel Tarvin drove by for his daughter, and 
after a few pleasant words with John Hatton, 
started for home. 

Soon after arriving home Mrs. Tarvin informed 
Eleanor that Dr. Ferguson would call in the after- 
noon and desired to have a conversation with her. 

The young lady was surprised, but indicated 
her willingness to talk with the minister. 

Accordingly, the doctor called at Colonel Tarvin’s 
and after a short while of conversation between him 
and the mother and daughter, Mrs. Tarvin excused 
herself, leaving Miss Eleanor and the minister 
alone in the parlor. 

“Miss Eleanor,” said Dr. Ferguson, “as your 
mother has informed you, I desire to talk with you 
personally and, I hope, confidentially, about a mat- 
140 


THE TRANSITION 


ter that is of great importance which not only af- 
fects you personally, but means much to your 
mother, and is of vital interest to the future wel- 
fare of our church, both here in Princeton and in 
the brotherhood at large.” 

“I am very willing to hear you. Dr. Ferguson,” 
replied the young lady. 

'‘It is a rather delicate situation,” said the min- 
ister, “it is with reference to the young pastor of 
our church.” 

Straightening up to her full dignity. Miss Eleanor 
said in a very formal way: “I had surmised as 
much. Dr. Ferguson, and if you will, you may pro- 
ceed to speak what is in your mind.” 

Her manner, her look, the tone of her voice, her 
very presence disconcerted the ecclesiastic, threw 
him into consternation, and put him on the defensive 
in the outset ; could he have done so, he would have 
retreated at once, but it was impossible. 

“Well, as I said. Miss Eleanor, you must not con- 
sider me as intending to be in any way objectionable 
and will pardon anything I say which might other- 
wise be offensive, as you know me to be a true 
friend of your family, an earnest supporter of the 
church, trying always to defend the faith and to 
keep intact the tenets of our denomination.” 

“Yes,” answered the young lady, looking directly 
at him. 

“But,” said the doctor, with a forced and very 
artificial smile playing over his fatherly counte- 
141 


THE TRANSITION 


nance, “the main reason for my coming to you now, 
is for your own welfare.” 

“Oh, indeed! how kind of you,” exclaimed 
Eleanor, with a chilly, sarcastic laugh. 

It was with the greatest effort that the baffled 
divine gathered himself together and finally came 
to the point, by saying: “Miss Eleanor, after hav- 
ing talked often and at length with your mother, 
she and I have decided that it is wise for me to lay 
before you all the facts concerning this young man. 

“As you doubtless know,” he continued, “he is 
unsound in the faith, is disloyal to our Confession, 
is far from possessing ministerial dignity, and it is 
a foregone conclusion that charges of heresy are 
to be preferred against him, and that he will be 
brought up for trial at the next meeting of Pres- 
bytery.” 

“Will you please state the points of attack that 
are to be made upon his teaching?” asked Miss 
Tarvin. 

Again the minister was repulsed, not expecting 
such a question, and as yet not having formulated 
his charges against John Hatton, he was at a loss 
for an answer. 

“Just now, it would be difficult for me to state 
the specific charges that are to be made against 
him, and probably ’twould be improper and unwise 
for me to do so, as that would come properly before 
the Presbytery only,” the doctor said. 

“Then I suppose that charges will not be sub- 
142 


THE TRANSITION 


mitted in advance to Mr. Hatton himself, in order 
to give him sufficient opportunity to defend him- 
self?’' said the young lady. 

“It is very evident, Miss Tarvin, that you are in 
sympathy with Mr. Hatton. You may not know 
it,” he continued in a reproving way, “but your at- 
titude toward this young heretic and your evident 
fondness for him is the bitterest experience in your 
mother’s life, and is breaking her heart and de- 
stroying her happiness.” 

“You may be warranted, sir, in speaking to me 
in this way, but I do not think so. I gave you a 
respectful hearing, because evidently it is my 
mother’s desire to have you talk with me. I re- 
gret that her champion in this controversy is not 
more tactful, for otherwise her cause might be 
better served,” replied Eleanor. 

“I should like to say to you, further. Dr. Fergu- 
son,” continued Miss Tarvin, “that as to Mr. Hat- 
ton’s teaching, if it is heresy, then I, too, am a 
heretic, and proud of the fact. This is not the 
time or the place for me to make a defense of his 
teaching, in fact, it needs no defense from anyone. 
The truthfulness of his teaching is self-evident. 
You have only to look at the influence it has upon 
the people, and to take into account the wonderful 
transformation his preaching has wrought in the 
thought and life of the community since he has 
been here.” 

Then, her indignation flaming, she said: “I can 

143 


THE TRANSITION 


easily understand why you are opposing Mr. Hat- 
ton and why you have opposed him from the mo- 
ment when he first came to Princeton; you are 
jealous of him. You tried to defeat him the first 
time he went into the pulpit, , and you have been 
his secret enemy ever since, and with my mother 
you have concocted scheme after scheme to over- 
throw him. Even now you have sinister plans to 
overthrow him, thwart his plans, blast his hopes and 
wreck his life.” 

‘‘But the meanest part of it all is,” she continued, 
“that you have taken advantage of my mother’s 
credulity, appealing to her religious prejudices. I 
know she has a natural aversion to Mr. Hatton, 
but it would not be half so pronounced as it is had 
you not influenced her as you have.” 

“Miss Tarvin, Pdo not hold you accountable for 
the very rash things you are saying, for you are 
not yourself. Your mind has been poisoned; you 
have been led astray from the religious teachings of 
your childhood by your contact with the so-called 
‘liberal thought.’ ” 

“I am now going to say something which will 
doubtless be still more offensive to you,” continued 
the doctor, “but, for your own good it must be said. 
Your infatuation for this young man is nothing 
more nor less than ridiculous. The idea of a Tarvin 
marrying a man whose social level is so far below 
your own, is an utterly unthinkable thing. 

“One other thing, before I go. Miss Tarvin, bit- 
144 


THE TRANSITION 


ter as it may be for you to hear, and it is for your 
good that I say it. It is rumored that John Hat- 
ton’s moral record is not clear. It is no credit to 
you to be seen so much in his company; for your 
mother’s peace of mind and for your future wel- 
fare I hope you will discard him at once,” said the 
clergyman. 

“Dr. Ferguson,” said Eleanor coldly, “you pose 
as a servant of Christ, a representative of the Chris- 
tian religion. If you are a true exponent of the 
Christ life, then none of it for me, but you are not. 
Your spirit, your words, your artificial, fruitless, 
barren, selfish life mark you, not a Christian, but a 
hypocrite ; not a saint but a pharisee. 

“Listen to me,” she said, “one noble impulse from 
John Hatton’s pure heart, one true thought from 
his fertile brain, one kindly act from his honest 
life, will work more good than you in your long 
life have accomplished.” 


145 


CHAPTER XVIL 


The orthodox clergy of Princeton Presbytery, 
also of other surrounding Presbyteries, especially 
of the Lebanon Presbytery, kept a close eye upon 
John Hatton’s ministry, and noted carefully every 
utterance of his, as reported by Dr. Ferguson in 
private correspondence and as published from time 
to time in the secular papers. 

The sermon of Hatton’s, however, which gave 
his enemies reasonable ground for heresy charges 
was the one preached at a union service in the 
Southern M. E. Church in Princeton, his subject 
being “Christian Union.” 

On this occasion the subject having been pre- 
viously announced, the house was packed with rep- 
resentatives from all the churches in Princeton. 

The preacher took as the scriptural basis of his 
remarks the prayer of Christ for the unity of His 
followers, as recorded in the seventeenth chapter 
of the Gospel as written by John. 

He maintained that one of the greatest hin- 
drances to the rapid evangelization of the world is 
the sectarian divisions of the Lord’s hosts. 

He took the ground that there is scriptural au- 
thority for but one church, that Christ said, “upon 
this rock I will build My church.” 

146 


THE TRANSITION 


He argued that the same process which makes 
a Christian also puts one into the church, that the 
idea of first becoming a Christian and afterward 
“joining some church” is unscriptural, illogical, un- 
thinkable. To be a Christian, and a “Christian 
only,” was all that was thought of, or required in 
apostolic times, and should be sufficient to-day. 

He boldly declared that all sectarian denomina- 
tions have been afterthoughts, the products of un- 
inspired men, that they are only of human authority 
and are directly contrary and antagonistic to the 
plan or purpose of Christ concerning the Christiani- 
zation of the world. 

After thus speaking in general by way of intro- 
duction, he argued: 

I. That sectarian divisions are impracticable 
from a business point of view. 

Using the situation in Princeton as an illustra- 
tion, he asked how much more effective the re- 
ligious work in a town of three thousand inhab- 
itants might be had they only one church, with a 
great auditorium and a great united congregation, 
instead of having six small congregations, each 
meeting in a small house and each thinking more of 
its own special interests, dogmas and doctrines, than 
of the great universal cause of Christianity. 

He held up the crime of spending large sums of 
money in running ecclesiastical machinery, when 
much of the same might be used in helping the 


147 


THE TRANSITION 


poor, and in various other channels of beneficent 
work. 

He showed how one man might preach more ef- 
fectively to one great congregation than six men to 
six small struggling congregations, and that no 
more salary would be necessary in such conditions 
than is required to support each one of the six 
resident preachers. He clinched the argument un- 
der his first proposition by showing “how much 
more might be accomplished were this money, now 
being wasted, turned into other channels and were 
the five preachers whose services might well be dis- 
pensed with, sent out into other fields as mission- 
aries of the cross.” 

2. He claimed denominations to be wrong, be- 
cause they make the church appear inconsistent in 
the eyes of the world. 

Christ had this very point in view when he prayed 
for the visible unity of His followers, when He 
said “That the world may believe that Thou didst 
send me.” 

“Were the churches meant to be competitive 
transfer societies to carry human souls from earth 
to heaven, there might be some reason or excuse 
for such state of affairs; but Christ taught us to 
pray, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,' 
and it is the business of Christianity to create a 
heaven here on earth by being a unit in Christ and 
experiencing a glorious fellowship, one with an- 
other,” 


148 


THE TRANSITION 

'‘How can the bewildered man of the world decide 
which road to take and what method to follow, 
when so many are open to him with strong advo- 
cates saying, ‘this is the true way, and all others are 
wrong?’ ” 

3. He declared sectarian divisions to be openly 
sinful, because they are in direct opposition to the 
one supreme authority. 

“All Christians theoretically admit that Christ 
is supreme, and that the Bible is the one rule of 
faith and practice. In the New Testament there 
is no authoritative mention of any except the Church 
of Christ, and His followers are called ‘Disciples’ 
or ‘Christians.’ 

“Christ urged unity upon His followers. He 
prayed that ‘all who came after Him professing 
faith in His name, might be one, even as He and 
the Father are one.’ ” 

In his concluding remarks John Hatton briefly 
set forth the logical and scriptural grounds for 
Christian Union. 

He maintained that it never could be accom- 
plished by any sort of sectarian federation, nor 
could it be brought about by any organic union of 
the existing denominations as such. 

He held that there are many inherited traditions, 
prejudices, doctrines and dogmas in each of the de- 
nominations which no one church would give up 
in order to stand upon the platform and accept the 
teachings of some other church. 

149 


THE TRANSITION 


He claimed that a church with a human name 
and a human creed could never form the basis of 
Christian Union. 

^‘Whereas all claim to be Christians and whereas 
all believe the Bible, it is a logical conclusion then 
that the only ground common to all upon which all 
may agree and upon which all may stand, is that of 
apostolic simplicity and of divine authority. It is 
simply to be a Christian — no more, no less; it is 
simply to take the Bible as the one authoritative 
book, allowing each individual to be his own inter- 
preter, to form his own opinions, to keep his own 
conscience, without trying to force his convictions 
upon another.” 

The concluding sentences of this discourse were 
as follows: “You ask of me, then, my friends, 'what 
shall be your future course?’ It is very evident 
that my convictions, as indicated in this sermon, 
are not in harmony with the position and teach- 
ing of the denomination of which I am a member. 

“As to my future, it is in the hands of God. 
This I declare, never again shall I preach as a 
representative of any denomination created by men. 
I hope by the Grace of Christ to be a Christian, 
and as a Christian, and a ‘Christian only,’ I go 
forth, trusting in His name. 

“My future plans are indefinite, for under God, I 
have no idea as to where my lot shall be cast, but 
without fear, I go forth, knowing that all shall be 
well, and may the blessings of God be with you 

150 


THE TRANSITION 


and each of you, now and forever — Amen, and 
Amen!” 

Deep silence prevailed as John Hatton closed his 
sermon. 

After a few moments the pastor of one of the 
local churches, who was presiding over the meet- 
ing, arose, too bewildered to know what he was say- 
ing. He and the other preachers present felt in- 
jured and were indignant. He spoke a few words 
in which he deplored what the '‘young brother” had 
said, and felt that he had “made a mistake from 
which he could never recover.” 

He did not even announce a closing hymn, but 
asked the audience to “arise and receive the bene- 
diction.” 

Some of the elders of Hatton’s church who oc- 
cupied front seats turned abruptly away, refusing 
to speak to Hatton. Only one minister present, one 
of Hatton’s true friends, had any word for him. 

Mrs. Tarvin was not present. Colonel Tarvin 
and his daughter sat together, and remained in the 
church until nearly everyone had left; then they 
approached John Hatton, shook hands with him 
warmly, but in silence. 

Telegraphic reports of the sermon were sent to 
the Nashville papers, and to the Louisville “Courier 
Journal.” 

Dr. Ferguson sent a telegram that night to Pro- 
fessors Stainer and Bain at Lebanon, Tennessee, 
asking them to meet him in Nashville the next day. 

151 


THE TRANSITION 


These gentlemen, with some other ministers in 
Nashville, formulated a statement for publication 
in the church papers, repudiating John Hatton; 
they also formulated charges of heresy against him, 
which were to be presented at the next meeting of 
the Princeton Presbytery. 

The presbytery convened in Princeton at the ap- 
pointed time, but John Hatton was not present. At 
the first roll call everyone listened intently when 
the H’s were reached. “John Hatton,” called the 
stated clerk and the only response was a smile which 
played over the faces of the audience. 

The position which John Hatton assumed in re- 
nouncing sectarianism and all ecclesiasticism left 
him no room for the recognition of presbyterial au- 
thority. 

The next day, after preaching his sermon on 
Christian Unity, he sent a brief note to the session 
of the Princeton church offering his' resignation as 
pastor, to take effect at once. He sent no com- 
munication whatever to the presbytery. 

After the roll call was finished, Dr. Ferguson 
arose and said: “Brother Moderator, I move that 
the name of the Rev. John Hatton be stricken from 
the roster of this presbytery.” 

The motion having been duly seconded, the Mod- 
erator asked whether there were any remarks to be 
made before taking the vote. 

Dr. Ferguson arose and said: “Brother Modera- 
tor and brethren, it is useless to make any extended 

152 


THE TRANSITION 


remarks upon this question, as the facts connected 
with the case are doubtless well known to all pres- 
ent. I have no disposition at this time and in this 
presence to say anything derogatory to Mr. Hatton 
personally, however much ground I might have to 
do so. That he is a heretic is well known to all 
loyal members of our church, and, as he is not here 
to make a defence and as he has ignored this pres- 
bytery and its authority and has violated his ordi- 
nation vows, there is but one thing for us to do, 
and that is to vote ‘yea’ to this motion.” 

The Rev. Dr. Haley, Dean of the Theological 
Seminary, being present and having been invited to 
a seat as an advisory member of the presbytery, 
arose, and addressing the Moderator, said : “Breth- 
ren and friends, of course, in the present circum- 
stances, there is but one thing for you to do, as 
Dr. Ferguson has just indicated. 

“I am not here,” Dr. Haley continued, “to make 
a defence of Brother Hatton’s position with ref- 
erence to the church, but you will permit me to 
speak a few words concerning him personally. I 
perhaps know him as well, or better than any other 
minister in this presence has known him, and, to 
know’ him with an unbiased conscience, is to love 
him. 

“He is a manly man,” said the doctor, “and what- 
ever may be his conviction, he is honest and does 
what he thinks is right. I recommended him to this 
church, and even now do not regret what I did. 

153 


THE TRANSITION 

The world will hear from him and my sincere con- 
viction is that when the final balancing of the book 
of God is finished, we shall all know that the world 
was made better by John Hatton’s having lived in 
it.” 


154 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


After John Hatton’s resignation as pastor he 
spent some weeks in Princeton, mixing and min- 
gling freely with those who loyally stood by him, 
and resenting none of the harsh things said of him 
by his enemies. 

He took advantage of the opportunity for a 
much-needed rest, both to his mind and body. 

At this time two great problems weighed heavily 
upon him, and engaged all the powers of his being. 

One of these problems was his future course 
with reference to preaching the Gospel of Christ’s 
kingdom on earth ; the other was his attachment to 
Eleanor Tarvin, and what would be their future re- 
lationship. 

That they were truly devoted to each other, and 
that their future happiness in this life depended 
upon the realization of their hopes of being man 
and wife, both these young people fully realized. 

Common sense asserted itself in the thought and 
action of both of them, and trusting to their great 
love for each other, and in their unalterable faith 
in God, they pledged to each other unending devo- 
tion. 

So far John Hatton had never spoken with Mrs. 
Tarvin concerning the love he bore her daughter. 

155 


THE TRANSITION 


Before leaving Princeton he felt it his duty to talk 
openly and frankly with her upon this subject. 

It was agreed that Miss Eleanor should speak to 
her mother and if possible obtain her consent to 
see John Hatton. 

Saturday afternoon Eleanor called John Hatton 
on the phone and asked him to come out to her, at 
once if possible. 

Upon arriving at the Tarvin residence he was 
met at the front door by Eleanor, there being no 
one in the house except the young lady and her 
mother. 

Miss Eleanor invited the young man to go up 
with her to her mother’s sitting-room, saying that 
her mother was quite ill and unable to come down 
to the parlor. 

Mrs. Tarvin was reclining upon a couch, ap- 
parently upon the verge of prostration and com- 
plete collapse. 

The two young people were seated, and Miss 
Eleanor opened the conversation by saying: 
‘^Mother, as this is perhaps the last time Mr. Hat- 
ton will call at our home, he desires to talk with you 
about a matter that means so much to us all.” 

Mrs. Tarvin moaned and sobbed, saying: ‘‘Oh, 
dear, oh, dear, I do wonder if this was to he!” Then 
she almost fainted, and it was with difficulty that 
Eleanor, with the aid of “smelling salts,” sufficiently 
restored her. 

Then Mrs. Tarvin said: “My daughter, little did 

156 


THE TRANSITION 


I even dream that such an experience as this would 
ever come into my life. Little did I ever think that 
one so inferior to you as is this man would ever 
have the audacity to declare his love for you, and 
still less did I ever think my child would be so 
foolish and so far forget her social standing as to 
give any encouragement whatever to one who is 
so far beneath us.” 

‘‘Oh, mother, please do not speak so unkindly,” 
sobbed Eleanor, “for you know Mr. Hatton is a 
gentleman.” 

“I have no doubt about Mr. Hatton being in 
love with you — well might he be,” said Mrs. Tarvin, 
“but I do seriously doubt your love for him. I 
think it is but a fancy, and that after you are sepa- 
rated from his influence you will see your mistake 
and soon forget him. This would be a great in- 
justice to him and it is better that you break away 
from him now and forever!” 

“The question is, do you really love that man?” 
pointing to John Hatton. 

The young lady coolly and deliberately answered : 
“I have thought so, but may be mistaken.” 

Had a bullet been fired into his heart John Hatton 
would not have been more surprised. Unspeakable 
anguish was depicted upon his face and, over- 
whelmed with grief, he looked intently at the girl, 
and only said: “Oh, Eleanor!” 

“How dare you address my daughter thus!” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Tarvin. “Do you not see, sir,” she 

157 


THE TRANSITION 


continued, “that as she comes to herself she cares 
nothing for you? If she really loved you, would 
there be any doubt about it in her own mind ? It is 
said that you possess will power, decision and force 
of character. If this be true, I should think you 
would at once take your leave and drop this matter 
forever.” 

“Madam, I feel the force of your remarks and 
accept your statement; if there is any doubt in the 
young lady’s mind about the reality of her love for 
me, I have nothing more to say. I shall bid you 
both good-by,” said John Hatton. 

The young man had arisen, and walked toward 
the door. Eleanor arose, and, removing the ring 
he had placed upon her finger, she approached John 
and handed it to him, her eyes filled with tears. 

“I will go down with you, Mr. Hatton, if you 
do not object,” she said, her lips quivering pitifully. 

“Thank you,” he replied, and held the door open 
for her to pass. 

Eleanor accompanied the bewildered young man 
to the front door, and as he was about to open the 
door to take his depatture, she stayed his hand. 
She said not a word, but put her arms about his 
neck and wept. Then she put her fingers into his 
vest pocket, where she had seen him place the ring, 
and taking it out, said : “My dear, I cannot stand 
this. I would rather die than to have you leave in 
this manner. I love you — I love you more than I 
love my life. Forgive me, dear, for I only said 

158 


THE TRANSITION 


what I did in order to save mother. I do not wish 
to deceive her, but had I not said it, I believe she 
would have died. Now, if you will forgive me and 
still trust me and will love me forever, put this ring 
on my finger and kiss me.” 

John Hatton took the ring, placed it upon her 
finger, and kissed her, and joy reigned in his heart. 

‘‘Now, dear,” said Eleanor, “take the ring from 
my finger and keep it as your most cherished treas- 
ure. Keep it near to your heart and look upon it 
often, and think of me. Ponder on its endless cir- 
cle, and regard it as a fit emblem of the endless 
love, the eternal devotion which I have for you.” 

“God bless you, sweetheart — good-by,” said John 
Hatton. 

“Good-by,” said Eleanor; “but we shall meet 
again before you go away.” 

Eleanor returned to her mother, finding her ap- 
parently relieved and in much better spirits. 

They did not further discuss the situation ex- 
cept that Mrs. Tarvin said: “My daughter, I am 
very proud of you, and rejoice that this terrible spell 
which has possessed you has been broken, and that 
your good judgment has again asserted itself.” 

“That is all right, mother,” said Eleanor, “and 
if you are satisfied, let us say no more about it.” 

“That is true, my child,” said Mrs. Tarvin, “but 
there is one thing I think you should do and then 
we shall never mention the unpleasant subject 
again.” 


159 


THE TRANSITION 


“What is that, mother?’* asked Eleanor. 

“If you remember,” said Mrs. Tarvin, “some 
time ago our good Dr. Ferguson came to you in 
order to persuade you away from this man, and 
you became very angry and talked insultingly to 
him. Now, I know he does not feel unkindly to- 
ward you, as he understands that you were under 
a delusion and became unduly excited. Now as you 
see the folly of what you have done, I think you 
should go to the doctor, ask his pardon and thank 
him for his kindly interest in you.” 

“Never!” said Eleanor. “He overstepped his 
bounds and what he did was a presumption. I have 
my own opinion of him, and it is not a very ex- 
alted one.” 

“I shall not insist upon it,” said Mrs. Tarvin, 
“so we might as well let the matter drop.” 

“Very well,” said Eleanor, “but I want to say 
one other thing now, and that is, that Mr. Hatton is 
a gentleman, and if you desire to keep peace in the 
family do not say anything derogatory to him in 
my presence.” 


i6o 


CHAPTER XIX. 


In the city of Indianati there is a famous church 
known as “Old Central.” 

The congregation worshiping here is known 
simply as Christian, having no affiliation with any 
ecclesiastical body, and subscribing to no man-made 
creed, but taking the Bible alone as the book of 
authority, and standing upon a famous motto orig- 
inated about a century ago by a man named Camp- 
bell, which is : “Where the Bible speaks, we speak ; 
and where the Bible is silent, we are silent.” 

At the time of John Hatton’s renunciation of his 
ecclesiastical relationships he did not know that 
there were in existence, at different places, great 
congregations holding practically the same views 
as those into which he had grown and which he 
enunciated in his sermon on “Christian Union.” 

John Hatton’s fame as a Gospel preacher had 
traveled further than even his friends had suspected. 

On the occasion of his famous sermon at Prince- 
ton there happened to be in the town a noted travel- 
ing salesman, Col. Bomont, whose headquarters 
were in “Indianati.” 

Now Col. Bomont was a devout Christian and 
regular attendant at church. He was an enthusias- 
tic member of the body of people who contend for 
i6i 


THE TRANSITION 


Christian Unity and whenever in Indianati attends 
the Central Church. 

Just at the time of John Hatton’s withdrawal 
from the church in Princeton Col. Bomont hap- 
pened to know that the Central Church in Indianati 
was without a minister, and so deeply was he im- 
pressed with the young man’s discourse that he at 
once wrote to some members of the official board of 
the church in Indianati, telling them of the man 
and the sermon he had heard. He was of the opin- 
ion that John Hatton had a brilliant future, and 
felt that he would be just the man for the Indianati 
pulpit. 

Colonel Bomont’s letter impressed the officers of 
the church in Indianati, and a committee was ap- 
pointed to investigate the matter and, if they should 
think it wise, invite him to visit the church and oc- 
cupy the pulpit. 

So, after the lapse of a few weeks, John Hatton 
was invited to come to Indianati and fill the pulpit 
as ‘^supply” for a few months. 

John Hatton decided to accept the invitation and 
arranged to remove there one month from that 
time. 

When the facts and circumstances of John Hat- 
ton’s call to Indianati became known, the feeling in- 
Princeton with reference to him became very in- 
tense. His friends were rejoiced, his enemies were 
angered and a great many people of the town both 
in the churches and out became arrayed against 
162 


THE TRANSITION 


each other. His friends lionized him, his enemies 
anathematized him. 

Even the colored people took sides, the Tarvin 
faction, led by Uncle Stephen, favoring Hatton ; the 
Radcliff faction, led by Ben Radcliff, leading the 
faction in sympathy with Dr. Ferguson and Mrs. 
Tarvin as against John Hatton. 

The whole situation as to whether John Hatton 
should have social recognition before leaving Prince- 
ton was brought to an issue, when it was proposed 
by his friends that a farewell reception be held for 
him at the Lucile. 

In connection with this an amusing incident oc- 
curred among the colored people. 

Ben Radcliff ’s son, George Washington Radcliff, 
was head waiter at the Lucile. Having been in- 
fluenced by his father, he announced that he would 
not wait upon the company at a reception for John 
Hatton, and worked up the feeling among other 
waiters to the extent that they were all about to 
leave the hotel. 

One morning Squire Radcliff had occasion to 
send his colored servant Ben to the Tarvin home 
with a business message to Colonel Tarvin. The 
Colonel was not at home and Ben left the message 
with Uncle Stephen. Standing in front of Uncle 
Stephen’s cabin the two colored men drifted into 
conversation about John Hatton and the reception. 

Uncle Stephen said: “Looky heah, Ben Radcliff, 
what about dis Fs been heahin’ about yo’ and yo’ 
163 


THE TRANSITION 


son George Washington tryin’ to git all dem niggas 
not to wait on de table at Mas’ John Hatton’s ’cep- 
shun at de Lucile?” 

“ ‘Tain’t none o’ yo’ business, Steve Tarvin,” said 
Ben Radclifif, '‘but I doan mine tellin’ yo’, fo’ it’s 
’cause de Radcliffs ain’t got no use fo’ dat man 
Hatton. Yo’ ole Missus wuz a Radcliff, an’ yo’ 
knows she ain’t got no use fo’ ’im, and why kain’t 
he go on off ’bout his bisness widout a ’cepshun?” 

“All I got to say to yo’ niggah is, dat yo’ bettah 
be keerful how yo’ monkeys wid anything bouten 
Mas’ John Hatton. Yo’ is nothin’ but a common 
black niggah yo’se’f, and if yo’ fools wid me. I’ll 
hurt a place on yo’.” 

“Mebby you bettah try it now. Ye done fcrgit 
dat yo’ is a common black niggah, too. Yo’ is 
stuck up ’cause yo’ is a Tarvin, I reckon, but de Tar- 
vins is trash ’longside o’ de Radcliffs, and I’s a 
Radcliff myse’f,” said Ben. 

“I hab a good noshun to nock yo’ black he’d 
off,” said Uncle Stephen. 

Just then Aunt Eliza stepped out and handed 
Stephen an umbrella. 

“Knock awa’, den,” said Ben, “fo’ nobody ain’t 
skeered o’ yo’.” 

Uncle Stephen hit Ben a stunning blow upon the 
head with the umbrella, which felled him to the 
ground. He lay apparently lifeless, and Aunt 
Eliza ran up, saying: “Steve, hab yo’ killed dis 
niggah?” 


164 


THE TRANSITION 


‘‘No, I ain’t killed ’im; let ’im ’lone. He’ll git 
up tireckly. Yo’ t’ink I c’u’d kill a niggah wid a’ 
umberil?” 

“Dat ain’t no common umberil yo’ hit dis niggah 
wid, an’ it might ’a’ killed ’im, but he is cornin’ 
to all right, an’ mebby he won’t be so smart now,” 
said Aunt Eliza. 

Ben Radcliff returned to Princeton, with two 
great knots swollen upon his head. He went di- 
rectly to an officer and swore out a warrant for 
Stephen Tarvin. 

That afternoon Uncle Stephen went to Prince- 
ton and was arrested, charged with assault and bat- 
tery upon Ben Radcliffi 

Stephen was brought before a Magistrate for 
trial. The court asked Stephen what he had done 
to Ben Radcliffi 

“Well, Squair,” said Stephen, “dey sa’ I ’salted 
and battry’d ’im, but I didn’t do nothin’ but hit ’im 
wid a’ umberil.” 

“But look at Ben’s head, Stephen,” said the 
Squire. “Does it appear that an umbrella stroke 
would cause such knots as those upon as hard a 
head as Ben Radcliff’s? Are you sure that noth- 
ing struck him but the umbrella?” 

“Well, Squair,” answered Stephen, “sense I cum 
to t’ink .’bout it, dey wuz a iern-wej in dat um- 
beril when I hit ’im, but I didn’t know it. Dat 
Lizy o’ mine dropped dat iern-wej in de umberil 

165 


THE TRANSITION 


when dat Ben Radcliff wuz a actin’ up so, sayin’ 
dat de Radcliffs wuz bettah dan de Tarvins.” 

“Five dollars and the cost,” said the Squire. 

Aunt Laura, while remaining loyal to her church, 
had become a staunch friend to John Hatton. Since 
coming to Princeton he had lived in the Lucile. 
His honesty, his very courteous demeanor, his 
straightforward manner in everything, had appealed 
to Mrs. Pinchard and she was his friend. 

Be it said of “Aunt Laura,” whatever her pe- 
culiarities, she was an individual of strong mind, 
lofty character and unswerving integrity. 

It is no surprise then, that since she had come 
to regard John Hatton as a member of the hotel 
family, she exerted herself to make his last days 
there as pleasant as possible. She spared no energy 
or expense in making the reception an elaborate and 
brilliant affair. 

Ward Hepburn was “master of ceremonies” and 
Ollie Jamison was one of the principal speakers. 
The best of Princeton society was present and many 
visitors who had been invited from surrounding 
towns were there also. 

Miss Zanita Fulton went to the dining-room with 
John Hatton. Their conversation concerned 
Eleanor. Zanita repeated to John many loving 
things she had heard Eleanor say of him, and John 
in turn told her many things she should repeat for 
him to Eleanor. 

1 66 


THE TRANSITION 


In the splendid company assembled to make glad 
the heart of John Hatton there was no place for 
such personages as Dr. Ferguson, L. S. Rogers and 
Sisters Thomas and Hall. 

There was no sleep for John Hatton that night. 
As usual, Sam Langdon remained for a last word 
with his friend. He gladdened the young preach- 
er’s heart by telling him that he had decided to ac- 
company him to Indianati, and hear his first sermon 
in the big church. 

'T will meet you at the depot in the morning at 
four o’clock. The train leaves at four-twenty, you 
know,” said Langdon. 

‘‘God bless you, Sam, you are the best fellow on 
earth,” said John Hatton. 

Then they grasped each other by the hand, and 
said “good-night.” 

When John Hatton returned to the Lucile it was 
near midnight. 

He noticed a solitary figure standing in an alley- 
way, apparently waiting, and as a matter of safety 
he crossed to the other side of the street. When he 
came opposite the man he heard a voice call to him, 
saying: “Mas’ John, I wants to sa’ good-by to yo’, 
if you has time to speak a word to Uncle Stephen.” 

“Oh, is that you. Uncle Stephen? Come over 
this way,” answered John Hatton. 

Uncle Stephen was weeping as he extended his 
black hand to John Hatton, who in turn grasped 
and held it in both of his. 

167 


THE TRANSITION 


Uncle Stephen said: “Mas’ John I has waited 
and follered yo’, so’s I c’u’d speak to yo’ aftah all 
de white folks is gone. I jes’ wanted to say good- 
by, and tell yo’ how I’s gwine miss yo’, and I’s 
gwine pray fo’ yo’ an’ Miss Ellie — bless huh lil 
heart! God bless yo,’ Mas’ John! Lizy an’ me 
gwine take keer o’ de lil gal fer yo’, and yo’ shall 
hab huh, ef me an’ Lizy hab to steal huh an’ fetch 
huh to yo’.” 

John Hatton was weeping as he put his strong 
arm round the faithful old negro and said: “God 
bless you. Uncle Stephen, and keep you safe from 
harm !” 

Uncle Stephen turned and disappeared in the 
alley, sobbing as he went: “God bless Mas’ John 
and lil Miss Ellie.” 

John Hatton went on to the hotel, and gratitude 
welled up in his heart for such a friend as he knew 
Uncle Stephen to be. 

That night Aunt Eliza silently stole into Eleanor’s 
room. She had fallen asleep. Bitter tears had left 
their traces upon her cheeks as Aunt Eliza could 
see even in the dim light. The old “Mammy” did 
not waken her “baby”; she looked into her beauti- 
ful face, and with an unspeakable pathos, half whis- 
pering, half singing, crooned her own improvised 
song: 

Dreaming dr earnin', dr earnin' oh heben — dr earnin' 
oh him — 


i68 


THE TRANSITION 


Dr earnin', dr earnin', dr e antin' oh him — dr earnin' oh 
hehen — 

Dream on, ma hahy, fo' to yo' he is hehen, and 
hehen is him. 

''Good-night, sweet chile, good-night !" 


169 


CHAPTER XX. 


John Hatton and Sam Langdon, after an all day 
ride, arrived in Indianati late Saturday afternoon. 

During the journey from Princeton their con- 
versation was retrospective and reminiscent. John 
Hatton seemed to be living over again the days of 
his early life; he dwelt fondly, tenderly, affection- 
ately upon the love of his parents and early asso- 
ciates. He talked much of his school days and of 
the struggles he had experienced in going through 
college and the Seminary. 

Langdon listened intently, dropping an appre- 
ciative word here and there. When Hatton talked 
of his experience in Princeton and his great love for 
Eleanor Tarvin, Langdon said: “Well, Johnnie, you 
ought to be satisfied .with your experience in Prince- 
ton. To have wooed and won such a girl as Miss 
Tarvin, to know that she loves you, is enough for 
one man.” 

Hatton sat in deep meditation, thinking of 
Eleanor. Perhaps he was wondering when he would 
see her again ; he felt that without her life would be 
to him but an empty dream. 

In such moments of reflection and reverie, swifter 
than an eagle’s wing is the sweep of our mind, 
quicker than the lightning is the flash of memory 
170 


THE TRANSITION 


and imagination. In such moments, how often do 
we again live over a lifetime and how much of the 
mysterious future do we try to forecast! 

Slapping Hatton upon the knee, Langdon said: 
‘‘Wake up, man, wake up! There’s the first call for 
luncheon.” 

After luncheon was finished, Langdon proposed 
that they retire to the smoking compartment. Hat- 
ton readily consented, but declined a cigar. 

Upon being asked the reason for not smoking, 
Hatton said: “My friend, there is a peculiar cir- 
cumstance connected with my leaving off smoking, 
which but one other person on earth knows, as yet. 
Some others think they know. I understand Elder 
Rogers, Mesdames Thomas and Hall claim that it 
was because of their objections. 

“I am perfectly willing that they should think 
as much,” continued Hatton, “but there is one rea- 
son, the only real reason, for my quitting.” 

Then, in confidence, John disclosed that reason 
to his friend. After hearing Hatton’s story, Lang- 
don said: “Hatton, you are a peculiar fellow, but, 
knowing you as I do, I could expect nothing else.” 

Langdon looked at his watch and noted that they 
were due in Indianati in just one hour. He changed 
the conversation by saying: “See here, Hatton, at 
four-twenty we will arrive in Indianati, and we 
should be thinking of the future, as well as the past. 
Are you fixed up all right for a sermon to-mor- 


THE TRANSITION 


“Fm glad you called my attention to this,’^ said 
Hatton, “for, whenever I think of going into that 
city pulpit it makes me nervous and it is high time 
I were getting myself together for the task.’’ 

“What do you know about that church, anyhow?” 
asked Langdon. 

“Very little, in fact,” answered Hatton, “except 
what I have read in some church papers that were 
sent to me and what Colonel Bomont told me a few 
days ago.” 

“You shouldn’t mind, though,” said Langdon, 
“for having gone through what you have, one 
shouldn’t be nervous about anything.” 

“Well,” said Hatton, “new faces, new surround- 
ings, and a different atmosphere do make a dif- 
ference.” 

“I infer,” continued he, “that the Central Church 
is very aristocratic. They have the largest and one 
of the finest church buildings in the city. It is 
said to have a seating capacity for eighteen hundred 
people in the main auditorium. The total cost of 
the church is said to have been one hundred and 
fifty thousand dollars.” 

Hatton paused for a moment, and went on, say- 
ing: “Doubtless the people who worship in that 
church, in wealth, culture and intelligence rank 
among the first in Indianati. Indeed, I have been 
told that the Central Church, in historic interest, 
ranks higher because of the eminent personages who 
have worshiped there, than for the magnificence of 
172 


THE TRANSITION 


the edifice. Among the founders, builders and sup- 
porters of that church, I am told, have been Gov- 
ernors of the State, exalted Judges and many emi- 
nent in the social, professional and commercial 
world. They tell me that Garfield, one of the 
martyred Presidents, was a preacher in his earlier 
days, and at different times spoke from that pulpit.” 

“Yes, I expect to see a large and very dignified 
audience to-morrow. It will be large, of course, for 
I remember reading in the papers several years ago 
that under the administration of a former minister 
there were twelve hundred people in Sunday-school 
one Sunday, and that the church offering for For- 
eign Missions that year was over twelve hundred 
dollars. Yes, Sam, to tell you the truth, I am nerv- 
ous. Strange things do happen, and one of them 
is that Colonel Bomont suggested my name to the 
officers of that church at all. A green country fel- 
low like me! I won’t know where to put my hat; 
ril blunder in everything.” 

“Maybe you will, Hatton, but when you get on 
your feet and get straightened out in the sermon 
you will make up for all those little blunders.” 

The train pulled into the depot, and the porter 
cried: “Indianati! All out fo’ Indianati — change 
cars fo’ New Yawk, an’ all points ob de east 1” 

The young preacher and his friend stepped from 
the train, to be met by Elder W. C. Truitt, who 
greeted him in a courteous but stately manner. 

The elder recognized the preacher, having seen a 

173 


THE TRANSITION 


picture of him which appeared in a recent number 
of his church paper. 

Approaching, he said: “Is this Mr. Hatton?” 

“Yes,” replied the young man, “my name is Hat- 
ton.” 

“My name is Truitt, Brother Hatton — W. C. Tru- 
itt. I am very glad to meet you.” 

“Thank you. Brother Truitt. Let me introduce 
my friend, Mr. Langdon, from Princeton,” said 
John Hatton. 

“Oh, yes, from Princeton — Brother Langdon — 
are you a preacher, too?” asked Mr. Truitt. 

“Oh, no, I just came up with my friend for a 
few days,” answered Langdon. 

“Come this way, brethren,” said Truitt, “and Pll 
show you to your hotel. The Metropolitan is one 
of our representative hotels. Are you a business 
man, Mr. Langdon?” 

“Yes, sir; I have a srnall business down at 
Princeton,” answered Langdon. 

“Oh, I see,” said Truitt. “I have in time past 
been in business upon a large scale, and in my day 
made a great deal of money. I was one of the lead- 
ing business men of Indianati for a good many 
years. In fact. I’m well known in banking circles 
and am a representative citizen, especially in church 
and social life.” 

Elder Truitt accompanied the two gentlemen to 
the hotel, and went with them to their room, remain- 
ing long enough to give them a fair idea of his 

174 



\ 


THE TRANSITION 


place and the part he had played in the history of 
Central Church. 

'‘What do you think of that man Truitt?” asked 
Hatton, when the discursive elder had finally bowed 
himself out. 

“Not half as much as he thinks of himself,” was 
Langdon's reply. 

“I wonder if he is a fair sample of the official 
personnel of Central Church,” said Hatton. 

“For your sake, I hope not,” answered Langdon. 

“How shall we spend the evening?” said Hatton. 

“I notice in the paper that Viola Allen is at the 
Grand in ‘Twelfth Night,’ ” said Langdon. 

“By George, let’s go, Langdon. Her leading man 
is an old friend of mine — Will King Harcourt, an 
old Tennessee boy.” 

The two men went to the theater. Between the 
acts John Hatton went behind the scenes to shake 
hands with his old friend, who was much surprised 
to know that he was in Indianati, and said that he 
would be out to hear him preach the next morning. 

Hatton and Langdon occupied a room opposite 
the fire station on Sixth Avenue, and three alarms 
were sent in between midnight and six o’clock Sun- 
day morning. The result was, John Hatton had 
no sleep the night before his first appearance in the 
pulpit of historic “Old Central” Church in Indianati. 


175 


CHAPTER XXL 


Sunday morning John Hatton and Sam Langdon 
went over to the church quite early, in order to 
have a look at the famous building, of which they 
had heard so much. 

After having looked over the Sunday-school and 
lecture room on the first floor, they went up intO‘ 
the main auditorium. In silence John Hatton 
walked down the long aisle, and stepped upon the 
rostrum. He looked out over the room before him, 
solemn, vast and impressive in its proportions. The 
main floor, with the great surrounding galleries and 
painted windows through which carne the soft tinted 
light of the morning, the vast dark ceiling above, 
the grand organ in the rear, coupled with the his- 
toric associations of the place, were calculated to 
deeply impress a temperament such as that pos- 
sessed by John Hatton. 

A strange thrill went through his being. His 
heart beat faster, his fingers trembled as he laid his 
hand upon the cold marble top of the pulpit.' 

Standing by his side Sam Langdon broke the 
silence by saying softly: “What do you think of 
it?” 

Hatton slowly shook his head, but made no reply. 

Langdon, knowing John Hatton so well, saw 
176 


THE TRANSITION 


that his friend had passed into the subconscious 
state, and quietly stepped down from the pulpit, and 
took a seat without further comment. 

John Hatton then sat on the big pulpit chair and 
became lost in reverie, dreaming of the past, won- 
dering about the future. 

He looked out upon the pews in the vast audi- 
torium and thought of the thousands who had oc- 
cupied them in the days gone by. He thought of 
all those who had come in and gone out through 
those doors; he saw the hosts who had in the pro- 
cession of the years walked up and down those 
dim aisles. 

He thought of the preachers who before him 
had sat in that same chair and had spoken from 
that same platform. He tried to enter into their 
inward feelings as from time to time they had come 
with heavy and anxious hearts, bearing burdens of 
which the world knew not; he thought of their sor- 
rows and their joys, their tears and their triumphs. 
He wondered whence these men came and whither 
they had gone; what was the strange combination 
of forces and circumstances which had led them 
there and had taken them away. Some had gone 
to other fields and had taken up other tasks ; others 
no doubt had worn themselves out, laid down their 
burdens and surrendered their flocks to the Great 
Shepherd of the fold. 

Thus in mind he went far back over the years. 
It was with a start that he realized that he was in 
177 


THE TRANSITION 


that pulpit and had to speak in that church that day. 

He prayed that he might be led again into that 
spiritual condition, in which he might be strength- 
ened, elevated, exalted, inspired. 

He reviewed the feelings of the poet who once 
approached and entered this church, being moved to 
break forth into rapturous song: 


‘‘7 stood 

Before a church with jewelwork of stone. 

It towered like some old organ vast and good. 
Its keys were snowy thoughts, its thrilling tone 
Was music that from God descends alone. 
Embroideries in stone the pediment 
Adorned. Great starry blossoms blown 
Was the rose window that its beauty lent. 

And Gothic casements huge their curves divinely 
blent. 


Step after step I mounted the unde stair. 

As the soul nobly rises, word by word. 

On the high Jacob’s ladder built by prayer. 

Within, a solo deep and sweet I heard. 

In a mails organ tones. That singing stirred 
Grand recollections of a God-like voice, 
Thundrous with music, sweet as any bird. 

An angel choir, shouting a fugue most choice. 
Seemed crying to my soul. Rejoice, rejoice, re- 
joice 


♦From poem on “Central Church,” 
Newport, Ky. 


178 


by C. A. Allison of 


THE TRANSITION 


And so, for half an hour thus musing, John Hat- 
ton sat, until the spell was broken by a gentleman 
who walked down the aisle and addressed the young 
preacher, saying: “Good morning. Brother Hatton. 
You have taken the pulpit rather early, have you 
not?” 

“Oh, no, I had not thought of it in that way,” 
replied John Hatton. “I was only sitting here ad- 
miring the church, resting, and thinking a little — 
no offence, I hope?” 

“No, no, certainly not. You must not take me 
seriously. You must know I have a way of saying 
most anything to our preachers. I am well known 
among our preachers, probably as well known as 
any layman in the brotherhood. You will find that 
I am a representative man.” 

The gentleman who thus addressed John Hatton 
was none other than Elder Truitt. 

Elder Truitt asked John Hatton and Sam Lang- 
don to go down to Sunday-school, which was about 
to open. 

As the three men entered the room John Hatton 
was astonished to see the people who had come to 
the school, only about one hundred and fifty in 
number, and notwithstanding the Superintendent 
had announced the opening song, more than half of 
those present were hurrying to and fro, back and 
forth in the large room. John Hatton stopped and 
looked in amazement, asking Elder Truitt what 
was the occasion of the excitement. 

179 


THE TRANSITION 


“What do you mean, Brother Hatton?” asked the 
Elder. 

“I was wondering why the people were so agi- 
tated. Many of them are talking to each other 
while the opening exercises are going on,” said the 
preacher. 

“Oh,” replied the Elder, “I guess you are unac- 
customed to city life. You see, we are a very so- 
ciable people here and like to be friendly with one 
another.” 

Just at this moment, before Langdon, Hatton and 
Truitt were seated, a young man came up, and was 
introduced by the Elder. 

Now, this young man is noted principally for the 
cordiality of his handshake and, when he grasped 
Sam Langdon’s hand he gave it a grip and a 
wrench which made the finger bones crack and al- 
most disjointed the arm. Langdon’s face flushed, 
and with indignation he said : “See here, man, what 
have you against me ?” 

“Oh, nothing at all,” the young man smilingly 
replied, “we always make people feel at home when 
they come to this church.” 

Then it was Hatton’s turn to be tortured, and 
the cordial young athlete took him by the hand with 
a vice-like grip and with a backward and forward 
motion, pushed and pulled him until he would have 
fallen had he not caught hold of Langdon, who 
stood by his side. 

Mind you, all this was going on as the school was 
i8o 


THE TRANSITION 


singing the opening song. Others came up to be 
introduced, until the situation was about to assume 
the proportions of a reception, when John Hatton re- 
marked to Elder Truitt that he preferred ‘‘to sit 
down and be quiet during the opening exercises.” 

“Very well,” answered Truitt, “but our people 
here like sociability, and if a preacher succeeds in 
this church, he must be a good mixer.” 

“Our former preacher, while I do not like him, 
was, it must be said to his credit, a good hustler,” 
the Elder went on. “Why, sir, he would have 
shaken hands with everyone in this room before 
now, had he come in when you did. You see, 
Brother Hatton, the preacher must get around and 
become acquainted.” 

“Do you like all this disorder while the exercises 
are going on. Brother Truitt?” asked John Hatton. 

“Oh, that is immaterial, just so the sociability is 
kept up,” said Truitt. 

Through all the preliminary exercises John Hat- 
ton was astounded at the prevailing lack of system, 
order and reverence. The classes went to their re- 
spective places in the most disorderly manner. 

The closing exercises, if possible, were more lack- 
ing in decorum than was the opening service. The 
classes straggled in irregularly and at no time was 
quiet obtained in the room. Many church members, 
not members of the Sunday-school, before going 
up to the main auditorium, came into the Sunday- 


181 


THE TRANSITION 

school room and stood in the rear, talking all the 
while. 

The hour arrived for church worship. The or- 
ganist and choir had taken their places and John 
Hatton went into the pulpit. No one present had 
volunteered to introduce him, and he had to come 
forward alone. 

When the organist began the voluntary, there 
was only a small sprinkling of people scattered here 
and there over the large auditorium; the galleries 
were vacant. The greater part of the Sunday- 
school people remained in the vestibule downstairs. 
Until the preliminary exercises were well under way 
they did not begin to come; straggling in by ones, 
twos and threes, many of them were not seated 
until after the Scripture reading and prayer. Sev- 
eral well-dressed ladies occupying pews near the 
front talked together through all the preliminary 
worship, and even while John Hatton was reading 
his text, one lady leaned back and talked very ear- 
nestly with the lady in the pew behind her; John 
Hatton came very near stopping. 

Never in all his experience up to this time did 
John Hatton make such a failure as upon this oc- 
casion. 

From loss of sleep and from nervous anxiety the 
preacher was in bad physical condition. 

The psychic effects of his early reverie were for 
his good. But, the contrast — the strange inexplica- 
ble contrast between the church building, the his- 
182 

y 


THE TRANSITION 


tory, the associations connected with it and the peo- 
ple with whom he had come in contact, and the ef- 
fect the small audience, comparatively lost in that 
great house, had upon him, caused his sermon to be 
mechanical, and comparatively worthless. 

The sermon subject was, “The Kingdom of God 
vs. The Kingdom of Man.” In the discussion of 
it, there was no life, no animation, no good. John 
Hatton was puzzled. He could not comprehend 
the situation, he could not read the riddle before 
him. 

However, in the audience were a few faces which 
attracted his attention and impressed him deeply. 
Near the front was a youthful-appearing old gentle- 
man. He appeared the old type of Southern aris- 
tocrat. Serene benevolence was written upon his 
brow. His honest, refined, countenance indicated 
that no guile had ever found lodgment in his heart. 
It was easily discerned that he loved the house of 
God, that his beautiful spirit was in harmony with 
the true, the beautiful and the good; yet, by the 
close student of human nature it could have been 
detected that in his soul there was a tinge of mel- 
ancholy, a great loss sustained, a deep desire un- 
gratified. He was W. B. Warren. 

Scattered here and there over the audience were 
others who appeared equally lonely. They seemed 
to be in their places only because of the strong ties 
of memory and association. They seemed as old 
trees of the forest, left standing alone. 

183 


THE TRANSITION 

While the closing hymn was being sung, John 
Hatton looked upon both the great church and un- 
expected character of audience, and thought, '‘How 
are the mighty fallen !” 

After the benediction, there was a meeting of the 
official board, and the question of some definite ar- 
rangement with John Hatton was discussed. 

Elder Truitt suggested, in most solemn and de- 
liberate manner, and looking steadfastly upon the 
floor, that “Brother Hatton seems to be a fairly 
good preacher, but I fear he is not a good mixer. 
I noticed that he was a little backward in meeting 
the people in Sunday-school this morning. Sup- 
pose, brethren, that we ask him to fill the pulpit for 
about two months, and see how we like him ?” Then 
the Elder looked up, and rolled his eyes around as to 
see what impression his remarks had made. 

“I was very much impressed with the young man 
myself, and am ready to employ him, so far as I 
am concerned, but if you brethren desire to wait, I 
am willing to that also. Em certain, however, that 
the longer you know him the better you will like 
him,’' said W. B. Warren, the real leader, the 
saintly Elder in Central Church. 

This proposition was agreed to and Elder Truitt 
proposed to convey the same to the young minister. 

Truitt, Hatton and Langdon walked from the 
church to the hotel. 

The Elder said: “Brother Hatton, we have just 
had a meeting of the Board. I would say, in all 
184 


THE TRANSITION 


modesty, however, that I am the representative man 
in the Board, and my suggestions are usually 
adopted. I told the brethren that it might be a good 
idea to ask you to remain with us for two months, 
and by that time we may know each other better 
and be able to determine more wisely, whether to 
enter into a permanent arrangement. What do you 
think of it?” 

“Such a plan suits me very well,” answered John 
Hatton. 

“Very well then, I will see you later,” said the 
Elder as they entered the hotel. 

Again in the privacy of their room, Sam Lang- 
don said: “Well, what do you think of it now. 
Brother John?” 

“The strangest combination I have ever seen, and 
I am so dumfounded that I prefer to withhold an 
opinion until I see further into the situation.” 

“Let us wait and see the crowd to-night. Maybe 
it will be different,” said Langdon. 

They waited, they saw, and, alas! it was dif- 
ferent. 


I8S 


CHAPTER XXII. 


How kind of the beneficent Providence to veil 
our eyes that we may not know what the future has 
in store for us! How good it is, that in life’s pil- 
grim way, we must be ever led on by the unfailing 
star of hope, guided by the unseen hand of faith ! 

Were it different, how few would have the cour- 
age to press forward and bravely meet the tasks and 
tragedies which are a part of every life. 

To every aspiring soul, the future is rich in 
promise, glowing with the prospect of a better day. 
That inviting thing, which we call “to-morrow,” 
seemingly so near, yet that never comes, constitutes 
the divinely appointed “distance” which ever lends 
enchantment to our view. 

Because of this providential plan, all heroic souls 
progress in their upward way, and the face of man- 
kind is firmly set toward 

“Tto one far off divine event 
To which the whole creation moves,** 

when, in the eternal to-morrow, we shall awake in 
His likeness and be forever satisfied. 

Had John Hatton known, in the beginning of 
his work in Indianati, just what the true situation 

' i86 


THE TRANSITION 


was, just what his trials and tasks should be, his 
faith and courage would have failed him and, 
doubtless, his first day’s experience in the “Old Cen- 
tral” pulpit would also have been his last. 

Had the officials of Central Church, with their 
inherited opinions and stereotyped way of doing 
things, thoroughly known John Hatton, with his 
limitations and decided peculiarities, they would not 
have engaged him; had John Hatton known the 
true situation concerning Central Church at that 
time, he would have been far from considering it 
as a permanent field of labor. 

The work connected with this church at that time 
embodied all the complications of the great re- 
ligious, social and commercial questions growing 
out of the peculiar conditions of the present. 

In recent years, great changes have been wrought 
in the life and the customs of our large cities. Time 
was, within the recollection of many of the older 
inhabitants,* when the business and resident life of 
our cities was contained within the same section. 
Now, it is vastly difiFerent, and the making of this 
difference has brought with it many problems for 
those educational and religious institutions founded 
and established to meet the corresponding needs of 
the city, before present conditions were thought of. 

Thirty, forty, fifty years ago there were no elec- 
tric lines, or rapid-transit roads. In fact, there were 
no “suburbs,” such as we have to-day. This is pe- 
culiarly true of Indianati, for all the city, both resi- 

187 


THE TRANSITION 


dential and commercial, was upon the lowlands, be- 
tween the river and the base of the surrounding 
hills. As yet but few huge factories and gigantic 
mills had appeared upon the scene and there were 
no great terminal stations, as is the case to-day. The 
atmosphere of the city was comparatively clear and 
pure. 

It was during that period that the great Central 
Church was constructed. True to the name, its lo- 
cation was about the center of the city, within easy 
walking distance or carriage drive of the entire 
population. 

At that time the leading people of the church had 
no thought of the vast proportions the city would 
assume, even within their own day, and did not 
consider that the growth of the suburbs would be 
inevitably followed by the establishment of sub- 
urban churches. 

Thinking only, then, of the needs of the imme- 
diate environment, they planned and erected a mag- 
nificent structure, patterned after the great Spurgeon 
Tabernacle in London. In dimensions, and for 
durability, the intention was that it should be en- 
tirely sufficient for the needs of many generations. 

The growth of the city and the establishment of 
a number of churches in the new residential dis- 
tricts, with which a large percentage of the wealthy 
people of “Old Central” identified themselves, hav- 
ing withdrawn their membership from the mother 
church, caused a decadence of church life and re- 
188 


THE TRANSITION 


ligious influence in Indianati. This was true also 
of many other “downtown” churches whose mem- 
bership was depleted by the building of new 
churches in the newer and more aristocratic por- 
tions of Indianati. 

The “downtown” church suffered, not only the 
loss in members, but a great drop in social prestige. 
By the large falling off in financial support, many 
of the churches were unable to maintain the higher 
character of ministry. 

Thus, with the passing of the years, a new and 
very different class of people came into the ma- 
jority in Central Church, people of honesty, in- 
tegrity and real worth, and John Hatton came to 
love and appreciate them in the deepest and truest 
sense. 

They did not understand the significance of the 
house in which they worshiped. They could not 
appreciate the financial cost of the edifice, for the 
greater number of them had no part in contributing 
to it. Because of their position in the social and 
economic life of the day, they could not appreciate 
the great expense of maintaining such a plant and 
the large amount of money necessary to meet the 
current expenses of the church. 

The result was, that, without intending it, a large 
percentage of the members of the church came and 
went, as it were, treading those historic aisles with 
irreverent and unholy feet. Many of them con- 
tributed nothing to the church. 

189 


THE TRANSITION 


Very unfortunately, however, there remained with 
the mother congregation a few of the faithful, orig- 
inal members who could and did appreciate the 
old church. The paying of the greater part of the 
expenses of the church devolved upon them. They 
were very much in the minority, but had it not been 
for them, long ago the historic doors of “Old Cen- 
tral” would have been closed forever, and, perhaps, 
passed into other hands, or have been carried away 
by the strong current of commercialism which has 
swept through our cities. 

With the building of the suburban churches, not 
that there is anything wrong in the, multiplication 
of churches, but because of the idea associated with 
those ultrafashionable institutions, great harm has 
been done to the cause of pure Christianity. 

When those people, whose prosperity had been 
such as to enable them to own beautiful homes far 
from the dirt, din and snioke of the busy downtown 
districts, went about making for themselves their 
beautiful churches as vrell, it was in a sense selfish. 

So consumed were they with thoughts of self- 
comfort and luxury, that they forgot that the Chris- 
tian is for the church,, not the church for the ease, 
material comfort and convenience of the Christian. 

The fashionable suburban churches became nar- 
row, seclusive, self-satisfied and lost practically all 
of their spiritual power, which is inevitable when 
the great duty of human sympathy and human help- 
fulness is left out of account. 

190 


THE TRANSITION 


The religious conditions, then, as John Hatton 
found them in Indianati, were deplorable. 

''Old Central,” in Indianati, was vastly different 
from the "Old Central,” as known throughout the 
great brotherhood of which it was a part. Through- 
out the nation this old church was a conspicuous 
figure. But in Indianati for the last decade and 
more this church was scarcely known. The news- 
papers paid but little attention to the church or 
things transpiring there, save when something sen- 
sational, bordering upon the scandalous, was stirred 
up, which, of course, afforded delight to the gossip- 
mongers and sweet morsels for cheap reporters. 
Now and then a great convention came, and the cob- 
webs and soot were cleaned out from the long va- 
cant pews, and dark, lonesome galleries, the hosts 
gathered from afan, filling to its capacity the great 
edifice and, for the time, it took on the semblance 
of life, as in the days of yore. 

Doubtless, many were the preachers who came to 
"Old Central” upon such occasions and, awed by the 
impressive building, and ' inspired by the great 
crowds, went away, feeling that should they but be 
called to the pastorate of this wonderful church the 
pinnacle of earthly fame and glory for the minister 
of the Gospel would be attained. Alas! they did 
not know. 

During the first month and more of John Hat- 
ton’s ministry, he was nothing more than a very 
quiet observer and a very mediocre preacher. 

191 


THE TRANSITION 


Within a very short while after his coming there 
was an election of church officers. 

The membership then was divided into two dis- 
tinct factions, who had taken sides for and against 
the former minister. 

The faction made up of the majority of the mem- 
bership endeavored to consummate a plan for the 
retiring from official position of one of the most 
prominent and influential men in the church, Elder 
C. I. Dunkerman. 

This man was elder and trustee of the church. 
He for many years had been respected and hon- 
ored not only in his home congregation, but also 
throughout the brotherhood at large. 

It was his love for and devotion to “Old Central” 
alone that kept him in Indianati, for personally it 
would have been much pleasanter for him to have 
lived elsewhere with his children, all of whom Joved 
him devotedly, and greatly desired him to spend the 
evening of his life with them. 

But his strong attachment to the old church, the 
fond memories and hallowed associations of other 
days, held this good man, and, with his presence, 
his devotion, his counsel and his money, he de- 
termined to remain to the end and at last lie down 
to his final rest in the beautiful Indianati cemetery, 
beside his sainted wife. 

The opposition to the rejection of this man to 
the offices of elder and trustee had assumed such 


192 


THE TRANSITION 


proportions that it appeared on the evening of the 
election that its purpose would be accomplished. 

However, through the good influences and di- • 
plomacy of two good men, W. B. Warren and T. 
H. Lamar, the opposition was dissipated, and the 
faithful old man who had been opposed was again 
elected without dissenting voice. 

On discovering these facts John Hatton’s eyes be- 
gan to open to the real situation. 

He saw the danger of control being vested in 
untrained, incompetent, irresponsible hands. He 
saw the possible disaster which might come to the 
church, as a result of the irrational methods that 
had been employed in bringing into and setting for- 
ward in the church such an element, which, were 
they in large enough majority, might elect a board 
of oflicers, including trustees, who might, if they 
chose, sell the secred house and turn the people into 
the streets. Worst of all, such a course might be 
incited through ignorance and prejudice, even as 
was the attempt to set aside the faithful man who 
had helped to carry the burdens of the church for 
all those years. 

This was only one among many of the grave 
problems which confronted John Hatton, and which, 
no doubt, have been common to many other 
churches, constituting that great religious and social 
question — ''the problem of the downtown church.” 

Ere John Hatton had been in Indianati two 
months he fully grasped the situation, and thor- 

193 


THE TRANSITION 


oughly understood what would be necessary for its 
proper adjustment. 

Realizing that years must necessarily pass and 
that the best powers of one’s brain and heart and 
the best energy of one’s life must be given to the 
bringing about of the desired results, the one ques- 
tion with him was, should he remain and undertake 
the work, or, should he quit at once, and seek a less 
trying field. 

As yet, however, he could not even begin to tell 
his plans to his most trusted friends, as they were 
too radical and too far reaching to be grasped and 
indorsed even by the most aggressive members of 
the church. 


194 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


At the evening worship John Hatton discovered 
that the audience differed widely from that of the 
morning. He wondered whether this occasion was 
an exception to the rule, but within a few months 
discovered that it was not. 

The fact was, that had all those who attended 
church in the morning also attended in the evening 
and vice versa, the average attendance at both hours 
would have been nearly doubled. 

The morning audience was made up largely of 
people from the suburbs and of the older people 
from the downtown districts; the evening audience 
consisted of the younger people from the downtown 
section and of strangers from the hotels. 

John Hatton and Sam Langdon went to church 
in time for the meeting of the Endeavor Society. 
The meeting was presided over by a middle-aged 
man of kindly face; his grammar was bad, but his 
heart was good. The singing by the young people 
was hearty, spirited, and the spiritual atmosphere 
of the room was wholesome and refreshing. 

From the talks made by those who took part in 
the meeting, John Hatton discovered the widely 
varying types within the body of “Endeavorers.” 

In the early part of the meeting a lady arose and 

195 


THE TRANSITION 


delivered a straightforward address of three min- 
utes’ duration, which would have passed the closest 
criticism without challenge. 

Next a young man arose and attempted to de- 
liver a homily, which to his mind was of vast pro- 
portions. He evidently considered it necessary to 
deliver himself in “preacher style,” though his re- 
m.arks occupied not more than five minutes. 

He said: “Christian ‘Endeavors’ and Friends: 
This morning I walked out into the sunlight and the 
sun shown down upon me. I cast my glance up 
and seen a bird sitting upon a twig, singing a song 
of vibracious homminy. Again I looked and seen a 
lady driving down the street, and setting by her 
side was a little curly haired dog, and the dog looked 
happier than the woman. Now, my dear Christian 
‘Endeavors’ and friends, the point suggested to 
my mind and which I experbly desire to leave firmly 
constablished within the corridors of your never- 
dying souls, is the homminy of nature, as construed 
by the example of the sun, and the bird, and the 
dog, in extract with the discords of human sinful- 
ness in our own vitality.” 

Here the young man paused, swaying his clerical 
form backward and forward, adjusting his coat col- 
lar, proceeded, with great solemnity, to make the 
following “application” of the ideas already ad- 
vanced: “My friends,” said he, “after all, nature is 
the best teacher. We only have to study nature and 
read the Bible, and the world and all things is ours. 
196 


THE TRANSITION 


We hear much of the educated ministry. The re- 
sistable preacher is not the one that goes to the col- 
leges and cemeteries, but the one that crouches at 
the enshrine of nature. No schools for me, my 
friends; I expect to be as great a preacher as Paul 
was in the days of his mediterranean splendor, but 
I will not get my consternation from books chiro- 
gated by men, but from the great extemety of the 
cosmoretic vibrations of natural philosophy. May 
the Lord have mercy upon your immortal souls 

Sam Langdon and John Hatton sat in the rear of 
the room, with no one near them. When the young 
would-be clerical twiglet resumed his seat Lang- 
don not overly pious in his expressions, in an un- 
dertone said: “Well, I’ll be durned.” 

The people all over the room glanced at one an- 
other “with the other eye” and rather smiled, as 
they usually did when Brother Lyman Bender re- 
lieved himself of the things uppermost in his mind. 

The “Young People’s Society of Christian En- 
deavor,” though the name might signify as much, 
does not necessarily confine its membership to those 
young in years. A notable exception to this rule 
existed in the society of Central Church in the per- 
son of “Uncle Ben” Enders, as he was affection- 
ately called by so many of the young people who 
knew and loved him. 

“Uncle Ben” arose. The very presence of this 
man, then seventy years old, but young in spirit, 
was a benediction. 


197 


THE TRANSITION 


He spoke kindly, encouragingly, commending the 
young people for their good works and bidding them 
have a wide vision of the possibilities before them. 
He emphasized the needs of the home field, but did 
not neglect to exhort the society to larger fellow- 
ship in the work of Foreign Missions for worldwide 
evangelization. 

After “Uncle Ben’' there were a number of other 
short talks, and some “slecshuns” from a church 
paper. 

Before adjourning the leader called upon 
“Brother Hatton” for a “few remarks.” 

In a few words the young preacher commended 
young people’s work in the church, but there was 
nothing out of the ordinary or commonplace in 
what he said. 

After Hatton sat down, while the Endeavorers 
were singing the closing song, Sam Langdon said : 
“See here, 'parson,’ ” as he sometimes called his 
friend, “if you don’t get some life in you and say 
something when you talk, this evening will wind up 
your career in Indianati and I’ll take you back to 
Princeton and put you to writing insurance. You 
can preach, if you will, but from your performances 
to-day no one would suspect it.” 

“Well, Sam,” replied John Hatton, “I am fully 
conscious of the truth of what you say, but I simply 
must have inspiration when I preach and I haven’t 
found it in these people.” 


198 


THE TRANSITION 


^'It’s a pity Miss Eleanor isn’t here to-night,” 
said Langdon. 

John Hatton’s face turned pale and with pathetic, 
saddened countenance he looked at Langdon and 
said : ^‘Sam, I did not think you could be so cruel.” 

‘‘Forgive me, Johnnie, I did not mean it,” said 
Sam. 

The leader of the meeting, before calling for the 
“Mizpah” benediction, said : “Let all the ‘Endeav- 
ors’ go up to the auditorium above and hear the 
Reverend Brother Hatton in the services of the 
evening. We should encourage the young man 
with all our power.” 

Notwithstanding the awkward manner in which 
the request was made, there was a genuine sincerity 
and kindness in the voice and manner of the man, 
and all received it graciously, as it was intended. 

John Hatton’s heart was touched by the evident 
sympathy of the man and from that moment there 
was a warm place in the preacher’s heart for the 
man whose friendliness was better than his rhetoric. 

The disorder of the young people in leaving the 
endeavor meeting and in assembling in the audi- 
torium for worship, was, if anything worse than 
that of the morning after the close of the Bible 
school. 

The people were not settled in their pews until 
after the preacher had read his text, and there were 
but few of the older members of the church present. 

In his place, however, was that kindly faced man, 
199 


THE TRANSITION 


to whom, at the morning service, John Hatton had 
naturally been attracted. 

John Hatton preached again ; the sermon was 
better than that of the morning, but not worthy of 
any favorable comment. 

Until midnight John Hatton and Sam Langdon 
sat in their room at the hotel and talked. 

At eleven-twenty the next day they said good-by, 
and Langdon left for Princeton. 

Sad and lonely, John Hatton walked up one 
block where he took a car to his hotel. 

In feeling in his vest pocket for car fare his 
fingers touched a ring. He took it out and looked 
upon it until his eyes were blinded with tears, and 
his soul overwhelmed with memories. 


200 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Two months passed without any marked develop- 
ments with reference to John Hatton’s ministry in 
Central Church. 

The breach between the factions which existed 
because of disagreement concerning the former min- 
ister instead of disappearing seemed to become more 
decided every day. John Hatton gave no heed to 
the contentions of either side and the result was that 
neither faction took to him with any enthusiasm. 

He did but little “pastoral” visiting and took no 
particular pains to extend his acquaintance among 
the membership of the congregation. At the regu- 
lar services of the church, aside from preaching at 
the hours of morning and evening worship, he was 
merely a “looker on,” without apparent interest 
and with no comment. 

The opinion of both factions was that “John 
Hatton” was not the man for “Old Central.” To 
Hatton himself, this was a good indication, for it 
was the first omen of unity, the thing most of all 
to be desired. He determined to bide his time, 
conserve his forces and meet the crucial test when 
the time came. 

His firm conviction was that if in the providence 
of God he “was to preach in Indianati,” no combi- 
201 


THE TRANSITION 


nation of human forces could prevent it ; and, if on 
the contrary he “was not to remain in Indianati,” 
he would rejoice in the circumstances which might 
make the fact known. 

At the end of two months, “trial ministry,” John 
Hatton was approached by Elder Truitt, who in- 
formed him that the “prevailing opinion” was that 
“Central should have a different type of man for 
permanent minister.” 

The elder spoke very kindly to the young 
preacher. He really appeared to be pained in de- 
livering the message, for he felt that John Hatton 
would be greatly disappointed. 

The preacher received the statement with the same 
indifference and unconcern that had characterized 
him all along. He simply remarked: “Very well. 
Brother Truitt, my case is in the hands of God, and 
Vhatever is, is best.’ We can only await develop- 
ments. I certainly do not desire to become the 
permanent minister to Central Church, if it is not 
for the good of the entire membership and for the 
cause at large. However, I have been the means 
of one very good thing, which may result in some- 
thing better to follow.” 

“What is that?” Elder Truitt asked in evident 
surprise. 

“Why, I have been the means, according to your 
statement, of general agreement among your people, 
upon one proposition at least, namely, that they do 


202 


THE TRANSITION 


not want me as their permanent minister, said 
John Hatton. 

The elder smiled, saying: 'T had not thought 
of that, but it is true.” 

Then Hatton remarked : “There is encourage- 
ment in the fact, for, having agreed upon one propo- 
sition, it may be easier for them to agree upon an- 
other. Let us hope that the people may continue to 
see alike and also be a unit in favor of the man who 
may be called.” 

“There is some force in your remarks, Brother 
Hatton, and I trust what you suggest may prove 
true, but do not see much prospect of it as yet.” 

“By the way,” continued the Elder, “supposing, 
of course, that you have made no other arrange- 
ments, we desire you to continue with us until we 
can agree upon some other man. Of course this is 
very indefinite, and in event you have a call to some 
other field, you are at liberty to go at any time. I 
have made these statements to you, that you may 
feel free to look elsewhere and that we may be free 
to negotiate with others relative to the work here 
at Central Church.” 

“Oh, certainly, that is entirely satisfactory to me 
and I trust you may feel that I am not surprised, or 
disappointed in the least,” said John Hatton. 

“Well, I must say that your spirit concerning the 
situation is very fine, and I am delighted that you 
do not take the matter to heart,” said the Elder. 

Before taking leave of John Hatton Elder Truitt 
203 


THE TRANSITION 


kindly remarked : ^‘Brother Hatton, I would like 
to say that I like you personally, very much, and 
regret that we cannot see fit to call you to the pas- 
torate of our church, but we feel that you have not 
had enough experience for such an undertaking. 
You have never lived in a city, and are not well 
enough acquainted with the manners and customs 
of city life. However,” he continued, “I shall be 
very glad to commend you to some church in a 
smaller place. I believe in time you will develop 
into a strong preacher; you have some pulpit ability 
now, and it will no doubt increase. I can be of help 
to you, Brother Hatton — I am a representative man 
in the brotherhood — and shall be glad to do so.” 

“I thank you. Brother Truitt,” said John Hat- 
ton, “but at present you need not trouble yourself 
about securing a place for me, for, as yet, I have 
no plans for the future. I will continue to supply 
at Central until a permanent minister is secured, 
and then will consider my future course.” 

John Hatton went from his conference with 
Elder Truitt directly to the church and, all alone, 
sat in one of the pulpit chairs for an hour in deep 
meditation. 

Again he looked out over the auditorium and 
again he surveyed the rostrum. Again he was led 
into the subjective, and within the secret chambers 
of his being a strange voice whispered, as it were, 
telling him that his work in Central Church was 


204 


THE TRANSITION 


not about to close, but rather that it had scarcely 
begun. 

He had a vision of the throng of eager, anxious 
faces, looking up to him, of the multitudes that yet 
should fill that great room and be swayed by his 
message. He in some way was about to realize that 
the platform upon which he was at that time should 
be the theatre upon which many of the coming 
events of his life would be enacted. 

That secret communicating power then said to 
him: “Go now, and prepare yourself for the con- 
flict, but with the march of the years, to you and to 
the cause for which you stand, victory shall come.” 

The following Sunday morning a new preacher 
was in the pulpit of “Old Central” Church. His 
name was John Hatton, the same as had been ap- 
pearing there each Sunday for the past two months ; 
he wore the same clothes ; he was the same flesh and 
blood — but, the spirit of the man, his animation, his 
manner, his purpose seemed altogether different. 

There was mastery in every movement, confidence 
in every word, conviction in every thought upon 
that occasion; he entered the pulpit that day with 
a commission from on high, a call from God, not- 
withstanding the decree had gone forth that the 
people did not desire him. 

After John Hatton had gone into the pulpit. Elder 
Warren always alert as to who came into the con- 
gregation, having noted the presence of a number 
of distinguished citizens of Indianati and also a 
205 


THE TRANSITION 


great many other visitors and strangers, stepped to 
the pulpit and kindly whispered: “Brother Hatton, 
Dr. So-and-so, and Prof. So-and-so, and Mr. So- 
and-so are here to-day; it is very unusual, for none 
of them have been here for years. There are a 
great many strangers present, too. I hope you will 
do your best this morning, so they may not go away 
disappointed.’’ 

In usual circumstances, such remarks as the good 
elder had made would have been very embarrassing; 
but John Hatton knew the motive was good and 
in his present state of mind, instead of being dis- 
concerted by knowing of the presence of so many 
distinguished people, the fact was to him an uplift 
and an inspiration. 

He smilingly whispered his thanks to Elder War- 
ren for acquainting him with the facts, and assured 
the elder that he need have no fear of the outcome. 

At this statement the elder was both surprised 
and delighted. 

The audience was at perfect ease through the 
preliminary exercises, for the preacher was at ease. 

After reading the text the preacher closed his 
Bible, stepped out from behind the pulpit, and with 
perfect composure, in a pleasing, natural conversa- 
tional voice, remarked : 

“Before beginning the sermon this morning, my 
friends, I beg your indulgence in hearing from me 
a few practical remarks. 

“Only a few days ago one of your elders in^ 
206 


THE TRANSITION 


formed me that the prevailing opinion in the congre- 
gation is that I shall not be called to the permanent 
pastorate of this church. 

‘‘While I have not been a candidate for the posi- 
tion, I believe that it has been generally understood 
that my attitude has at least been receptive for the 
consideration of a call, should it be extended to me. 

“As I remarked to the brother who conveyed to 
me the information, so do I now remark to you, 
that at least there is one element of encouragement 
and hopefulness in your attitude toward me, and 
that is, you are agreed upon this one thing, which, 
so far as I have been able to observe, is the first 
point of agreement among you for many a day. 

“I sincerely trust that this is the beginning of 
permanent unity among you and, that when you do 
call a permanent minister, it may be practically 
unanimous upon the part of the entire congrega- 
tion. 

“The good brother who so kindly enlightened me 
with reference to my present status here, also 
further informed me that the official board desires 
me to continue as supply in this pulpit until such 
time as the congregation may agree upon another 
man. 

“To this I agree, and inasmuch as I am to con- 
tinue here until you agree upon some other man, it 
is most likely that I shall be with you for ‘quite a 
spell.^ ” 

“In present circumstances, then, my method of 
207 


THE TRANSITION 


procedure shall be entirely different from that of 
the past two months. 

‘‘May I tell you, that it was with fear and trem- 
bling that I first came upon this platform. This 
grew out of the fact that ‘Old Central’ abroad is a 
very different church from ‘Old Central’ at home. 

“I was overawed by the history of and the asso- 
ciations connected with this church.” 

“But, ‘distance lends enchantment to the view,’ 
and at close range one is soon disillusioned. 

“More and more, with each passing day, am I 
made to believe in the truthfulness of Josh Billing’s 
quaint saying, that ‘Human nature is the same the 
world over, so fur as its been heeard frum.’ 

“I have known a few other people, and compared 
with them you are ‘about the same.’ 

“The activities in this church in the past years, 
and the conditions to-day do not justify the news- 
paper reports sent out concerning you ; for example, 
it has been reported that your average offering for 
Foreign Missions has been from one thousand dol- 
lars to twelve hundred dollars per year, which is a 
splendid showing. But a good portion of ‘hot air’ is 
let out of the balloon when it is known that of this 
amount at least five hundred dollars is contributed 
by one individual, an officer of the Foreign Mission- 
ary Society, who happens to be a member of this 
church; again, it was published broadcast that you 
had an attendance of twelve hundred at your Bible 


208 


THE TRANSITION 


school ; your average attendance during the last two 
months has been less than one hundred and fifty. 

“It appears that the number of twelve hundred 
was reached as the culmination of a ‘Red and Blue’ 
contest, when simply to ‘win out,’ even a great many 
people were persuaded to come in from other schools 
for that day only. 

“It is said authoritatively that on the following 
Sunday the attendance was cut down more than 
half, and from that time until now the reactionary 
effects upon the school have been very bad. 

“Candidly, my friends, but in all love and kind- 
ness, the splendid reputation which this church has 
abroad is not justified by the facts at home. 

“So far, my position here has been an awkward 
one, in view of the fact that at the outset I was en- 
gaged as ‘supply’ only. 

“It would have been entirely improper for me to 
have ‘butted into’ the counsels of the church, or 
to have pushed myself forward in your Bible school 
or Young People’s Society, with suggestions as to 
the future policy of the church, or of those socie- 
ties; nor would it have been in good taste for me 
to have gone forth visiting promiscuously among 
the families of the church, uninvited, for all such 
actions by me might well have been considered very 
‘previous,’ and an effort upon my part to get into 
your graces, so as to secure a call to this work. 

“Therefore, I have been somewhat retiring and 
have refrained from doing anything except preach 
209 


THE TRANSITION 

from this pulpit, which thing alone I was engaged 
to do. 

‘‘My preaching, too, because of the peculiar con- 
ditions under which I have labored, has been un- 
natural, restrained, and ineffective. 

“But, thanks to a good providence, those re- 
straints are removed. 

“No longer can anyone think I am seeking em- 
ployment — no longer is it possible for anyone to ac- 
cuse me of having an ‘ax to grind. ^ 

“And now, with these pointed words, which I 
hope may throw enough light upon the situation to 
give us a thorough understanding of each other, 
with your permission, I shall proceed with my ser- 
mon.” 


210 


CHAPTER XXV. 


The subject of John Hatton’s sermon that event- 
ful day was “The Dignity of Man,” 

No attempt is made here to describe that dis- 
course, except to state that the delivery of it occu- 
pied about twenty-five minutes; yet, homiletically 
speaking, it was masterful. 

Not only was the subject matter and the arrange- 
ment of the same comparatively perfect, but the 
man himself was, in voice, bearing, ease, in natural 
dignity and earnestness, masterful to a degree that 
convinced the entire audience that he, and he alone, 
wm the man for “Old Central.” 

In his subconscious mind, no one felt or knew 
this more fully than did John Hatton himself. He 
felt it, he knew it before going into the pulpit that 
morning, and with the determination to compel the 
same feeling upon the part of the people, he under- 
took the task of the day. To him victory was in 
sight, for having conquered himself, he feared not 
the lesser task of conquering others. 

After the benediction it seemed that the entire 
audience desired to grasp his hand. One of the first 
to congratulate him was the former minister of the 
church who happened to be present and occupied a 
front seat. He rushed up to the young preacher and 
211 


THE TRANSITION 


with a cordiality characteristic of the man, and to 
which his success as a minister had been largely 
due, said : “Brother Hatton, that was a magnificent 
sermon, and had you preached that way from the 
time you first came here, the church would have 
called you. They should do it, anyhow, and I be- 
lieve they will — they certainly ought to.” 

During the following thirty minutes John Hatton 
was given nothing less than an ovation. No on- 
looker would have suspected that there had ever 
been a division within those ranks, for, it appeared 
that each faction was trying to outdo the other in 
getting to the young preacher. 

The feat was accomplished ; those who had 
unanimously opposed him, now unanimously favored 
him. 

A pleased expression, not superficial, but such as 
wells up from the depths of one’s soul and mani- 
fests itself upon the countenance, beamed from the 
face of Elder W. B. Warren. 

Elder Truitt saw that John Hatton had carried 
the day, and made haste to get in the forefront of 
the movement, and at once called the official board 
together. 

The board being assembled. Elder Truitt said: 
“Brethren, it is evident that we have made a mis- 
take in not calling Brother Hatton to this pulpit. 
I am willing to listen every Sunday to such preach- 
ing as we have heard to-day, and am fully con- 
vinced that Brother Hatton can give us such ser- 
212 


THE TRANSITION 


mons all the time. The fact is, I am very agree- 
ably surprised, for I did not think it was in him. 
I guess while we have been taking his measurement 
he has been ‘sizing us up’ ; he hadn’t tried to preach 
until this morning, when he showed us what he can 
do. Brethren, the joke is on us. If we give Brother 
Hatton a chance in a city pulpit, he will no doubt 
become a representative man.” 

Elder W. B. Warren, presiding, took occasion 
to say : “Brethren, I am not at all surprised, and have 
been in favor of calling Brother Hatton since hear- 
ing his first sermon. I saw that he had reserve 
force, and for some reason was holding himself 
back. His remarks to-day make the whole situation 
clear. The chair is ready to entertain a motion.” 

T. H. Lamar arose and addressing the chair, 
said : “Mr. Chairman, I move that this board rec- 
ommend to the congregation that Mr. John Hatton 
be called to the pastorate of this church, to begin at 
once and to continue indefinitely; also, that the 
question be presented to the congregation and voted 
upon at the regular services next Sunday morning.” 

M. H. Denton seconded the motion, saying, that 
while at first he had not been much impressed with 
Brother Hatton, he had, after studying him care- 
fully and hearing him that day, felt that it would 
be nothing short of a calamity if they failed to se- 
cure him. 

The board voted unanimously in favor of the 
motion. 


213 


THE TRANSITION 


The action of the board was presented the fol- 
lowing Sunday morning to the congregation by T. 
H. Lamar, and the church as a whole adopted the 
recommendation of the board, and John Hatton 
was formally notified by the church clerk. 


214 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


With the coming of John Hatton to Indianati 
two new features soon developed in his life. 

Being very susceptible to his environment, he 
was quick to imbibe the spirit of the time, with its 
surroundings. As yet, he had known but little of 
the real life and spirit of the business world. His 
thought and work since leaving his home in the 
south had been devoted entirely to preparation for, 
and service in, the gospel ministry. 

He was naturally generous, always liberal with 
the small means at his command. His parents be- 
ing poor, he had to borrow money to enable him to 
get through school. On entering his work at 
Princeton, he was in debt, and because of his meager 
salary, lack of interest in material things and his 
recklessly benevolent disposition, instead of saving 
his money and meeting his obligations, each pass- 
ing month left him more deply involved. 

His nature was such, that, whether he had one 
dollar or fifty dollars in his pocket, when the im- 
mediate occasion seemed to demand it, he would 
give it all freely, as though he were a millionaire, 
forgetting utterly all past obligations and never 
thinking of future necessities. This habit often 
subjected him to sharp criticism, and gave those 

215 


THE TRANSITION 

who knew not the true spirit of his life good ground 
for considering him dishonest. 

Had it not been for Sam Langdon and other 
true friends who believed in him and loved him, 
John Hatton's life might have been a shipwreck 
upon the hidden breakers of financial greed, in the 
turbulent sea of human experience. 

The truth is, John Hatton lived for the most part 
in the subjective state. Objective, material things 
held but little interest for him; even the beautiful 
form and face of Eleanor Tarvin appealed to him 
only as her graceful bearing and beaming counte- 
nance revealed the beautiful soul which was her real 
self. 

Because of this nature and disposition many 
‘‘men of the world” misunderstood him and held 
him in low esteem, for they could see only objective 
things, and could weigh him, only in the commer- 
cial scale and that without sympathy or considera- 
tion ; in their hearts the sign of the cross had been 
replaced by the dollar mark. 

On the contrary, John Hatton, for the time, had 
to justly suffer the consequences of his being un- 
able to take practical cognizance of objective things. 
As yet, he lived in the material world, his feet re- 
mained upon the earth and these material, human 
obligations had to be taken into account. 

Wherever the young preacher went, he found true 
friends who naturally interested themselves in his 
affairs and endeavored to maintain his credit in the 
216 


THE TRANSITION 

business world. Such friends were not wanting in 
Indianati. 

When it developed that some of the young preach- 
er’s obligations had not been promptly met and as 
a result some derogatory remarks had been made 
concerning him by his creditors, the remarks com- 
ing to the ears of that good man, W. B. Warren, 
the faithful Elder of the church went to John Hat- 
ton and spoke kindly to him regarding the matter. 

The young preacher heard what Elder Warren 
had to say, received it kindly, passed it by lightly, 
simply remarking : ‘T have been very busy. Brother 
Warren, and have had so many other things in my 
mind that I have really given but little attention to 
the matter which you mention.” 

Then, without giving the Elder time to remark 
further upon the question about which he had come 
to see him, John Hatton launched into another sub- 
ject pertaining to the church and so engaged the 
Elder’s attention that for the time he forgot his 
mission in considering the weightier question the 
preacher put before him. 

Afterward, while sitting in his office. Elder War- 
ren stroked his brow, shook his head, smiled, and 
though alone, audibly said: “Well, Brother Hatton 
is a mystery to me. To look into his face and hear 
him talk is to be convinced that he is sincere and 
honest, but he is so unconcerned about his debts. 
He cannot afford that, for it will not only injure 
him, but will bring reproach upon the church. I will 
217 


THE TRANSITION 


talk to him again, and impress upon him the neces- 
sity of giving attention to these matters.” 

The two new developments in John Hatton’s life 
in the early part of his career in Indianati were, 
strange as it may seem, while continuing with un- 
abated interest his work with the church, that he 
entered into business upon a large scale and at the 
same time entered the lecture field as a lyceum at- 
traction. 

Neither of these things was sought by him, but 
the force of circumstances apparently compelled him 
to do as he did. 

One Sunday morning there was in the audience 
at Central Church Jas. Worthington, of Chicago, 
the best known and most successful lyceum man- 
ager in America. 

Mr. Worthington had formerly been the Presi- 
dent and General Manager of a famous lecture bu- 
reau in Indianati; but a few years before had con- 
solidated with the leading institution of its kind in 
Chicago. 

Wr. Worthington still maintained his office in In- 
dianati, the same being in charge of R. A. Strick- 
land, who had been Secretary and Treasurer of the 
Indianati institution. 

There were but few private citizens in America 
with a wider acquaintance and larger influence than 
Jas. Worthington. For fifteen years prior to his 
engaging in the lyceum business he was secretary of 
the '‘Press Association” of a great state bordered 
218 


THE TRANSITION 

by “Mason and Dixon’s Line.” During that time 
he became personally acquainted with and was the 
personal friend of every editor and journalist in 
the state, and knew intimately many thousands of 
people, who familiarly called him “Jim.” 

Such was Jim Worthington’s popularity, while he 
never entered politics, that had he chosen to do so, 
his personal friends would have elected him to any 
office within the gift of his state. 

After retiring from his journalistic work, and 
resigning his office of Secretary of the Press As- 
sociation, Jim Worthington, as we shall hereafter 
designate him, went north and founded a Lecture 
Bureau in Indianati. 

The business was eminently successful, and Jim 
Worthington, with his company constituting the 
business corporation, would have become rich from 
the fruits of the business had he not been like John 
Hatton, too liberal for his own material welfare. 
Jim was more interested in “discovering talent” and 
bringing out and developing stellar attractions. 

More successful lecturers and concert attractions 
can attribute their subsequent careers to Jim Worth- 
ington, than to any other one man in the lyceum 
field within the last quarter of a century. Among 
them are lecturers and entertainers of almost every 
reputable class. They are among the eminent scien- 
tists, lawyers, jurists, politicians, clergymen, trav- 
elers, authors, soldiers, sailors, poets, musicians and 
humorists. 


219 


THE TRANSITION 


Many of these were great in their own particular 
spheres before Jim Worthington knew them, but for 
their success in the lyceum world they are indebted 
to him. 

Under his successful management have been many 
men eminent in other walks, not a few distinguished 
jurists, a number of Governors, one great Presi- 
dential candidate and others aspiring to the nomi- 
nation for that exalted position. 

Jim Worthington has made millions for others, 
in his service to humanity. 

It was a beautiful Sunday morning that this ly- 
ceum man “dropped in” at Central Church at In- 
dianati to hear a preacher named John Hatton, of 
whom he had read something and of whom one of 
Hatton’s enthusiastic friends had spoken to him. 

The subject of John Hatton’s sermon that day 
was, “The Transfiguration of the Devil.” The 
preacher used for a text that Scripture which repre- 
sents satan himself as being “transformed into an 
angel of light.” His theme was that the real devil 
is not the hideous monster of the picture books, 
with hoofs and horns, the semblance of a man 
covered with hair and with a long spike-tipped 
tail. 

“We need have no fear of temptation from 
such a devil as that,” the preacher said, “for at 
sight of him we would all take to our heels and 
run. 

“But,” he continued, “it is Satan in angelic guise 
220 


THE TRANSITION 


we should fear, the Satan, who comes to us in the 
robes of light, appealing to our selfish nature.” 

In the practical application of the subject, John 
Hatton showed how the devil had been transfigured 
in social, business, political and religious life. 

Jim Worthington was deeply impressed by the 
sermon, but more impressed with the man who de- 
livered it. 

To Worthington the sermon was unique, new 
and true; but the simple, straightforward style of 
the preacher took him captive. To him, John Hat- 
ton was a lecturer, more than preacher, and he was 
jubilant over making another ‘‘discovery.” He felt 
that in John Hatton he had found another “attrac- 
tion,” and believed that even the subject and the dis- 
course to which he had listened that day would, with 
some minor changes, make a great lecture. 

After the benediction, Worthington went down 
near the pulpit and met John Hatton. The two 
men greeted each other most cordially. They were 
both southerners, and both had retained and still 
loved their provincial accent. 

The lyceum man invited the preacher to lunch 
with him at his hotel, saying that he was anxious 
to talk with him. 

“It is very generous of you, Worthington,” 
said John Hatton, “and I, too, am very anxious to 
talk with you, but the only way it can be arranged 
is for you to lunch with me. I live at one of the 
hotels, so you will come along with me.” 

221 


THE TRANSITION 


After John Hatton had greeted a number of 
friends, met a few strangers who were waiting to 
see him, heard some complaints from a few 
“chronic kickers,” and listened to some gratuitous 
advice from one “brother” and two “sisters” who 
lingered to tell him how a few things should be 
done, he and Jim Worthington walked together to 
the hotel. 

They had not gone far until each had taken the 
other fully into his confidence and they were as 
though they had known each other always. Each 
had, in the other, found a friend^ even as had been 
the case with John and Sam Langdon. 

Strange as it may seem, before their luncheon 
was half finished they were calling each other 
“John” and “Jim” as though they had been 
“chums” from boyhood. 

“Mr. Worthington,” said John Hatton, “it does 
me good to hear you talk. I love that southern ac- 
cent, and do not hear much of it since coming to 
Indianati.” 

“Oh, say. Brother Hatton, call me ” said 

Worthington, “for it makes me feel so strange to 
be called Mr. Worthington.” 

“And you must 'cut out’ that ‘Brother Hatton’ 
business, too,” said John Hatton, “for I do not like 
to be ‘brothered’ too much. I suppose we will have 
to make a bargain then; I’ll call you ‘Jim’ if you 
will call me ‘John.’ ” 


222 


THE TRANSITION 


^‘Agreed,” said Worthington, and the two men 
shook hands upon it. 

“You should be upon the lecture platform,” said 
Jim to John. 

“Do you think so, really?” asked John Hatton. 

“I certainly do. I not only think it, I know it,” 
said Worthington. 

Continuing, he proposed that if John Hatton 
would consent he would make for him a few lecture 
engagements, so that he might go out and try the 
experiment, and see what would come of it. He 
proposed to pay him, for ten lectures, two hundred 
and fifty dollars, and all expenses, arranging the 
dates so that John Hatton would not have to be 
away from Indianati on Wednesday evenings or on 
Sundays. 

“That sounds pretty good,” said John Hatton, 
“two hundred and fifty dollars, did you say?” 

“That’s what I said,” answered Jim Worthington, 
“and,” he continued, “if you 'make good,’ we will 
soon pay you fifty dollars per night, and give you 
all the dates you can fill.” 

“Why,” said John Hatton, “at that rate I’d soon 
be rich, wouldn’t I?” 

“You certainly would,” answered Jim Worth- 
ington. 

“Anyhow, I will try you for ten engagements,” 
said John Hatton. 

Continuing, the preacher said: “I am just re- 
minded that two hundred and fifty dollars would 
223 


THE TRANSITION 


come in ‘handy’ now. I’m not inclined to give 
much attention to business affairs, and sometimes 
my friends become anxious about my reputation, 
when I’m slow in paying my debts and my creditors 
begin to comment upon it. I believe it was yester- 
day that one of my good Elders spoke to me about 
something of this kind — yes, Jim, make the dates. 
I’ll fill them and get the two hundred and fifty dol- 
lars and pay off my debts.” 

That was the beginning of a long intimate busi- 
ness and friendly relationship between these two 
men. 

The combination of constructive thought and hu- 
manitarian effort with “practical business” meth- 
ods is always more or less difficult, and as a result, 
men who otherwise would be eminently successful 
in “business” are often regarded as impractical and 
visionary. So some people thought of Jim Worth- 
ington in the earlier part of his career as a lyceum 
manager, but within a few years the law of com- 
pensation found fulfillment in Worthington’s work, 
bringing to him both fame and fortune. 

At this juncture of their experience seemingly a 
providential aid came to John Hatton in the person 
of R. A. Strickland. 

Strickland had been for years associated with 
Worthington, acting in the capacity of .Secretary, 
Treasurer, General Office Manager and private 
“Caretaker” for Worthington and the Lecture Bu- 
reau in Indianati. 


224 


THE TRANSITION 


Naturally, through Worthington, Hatton and 
Strickland became acquainted, and they, too, soon 
became fast friends. 

Albert Strickland was an altogether different type 
from either John Hatton or Jim Worthington. 
Quiet, reserved, non-communicative, even at times 
appearing rude and impolite in his manner, ‘‘Al,” 
as he was called, was difficult to approach, and was 
often misunderstood by those who did not know 
his real nature. But those who knew him, loved 
him, relied upon him and would have trusted him 
not only with their fortunes, but with their lives; 
he never failed a friend in time of need, nor proved 
false to a sacred trust. 

Such was Strickland’s knowledge of all the in- 
tricacies of business methods that he was enabled 
to assume and successfully carry all the detailed re- 
sponsibilities of a business office, in which both Jim 
Worthington and John Hatton were unskilled. His 
accounts were accurate, his acumen and foresight 
enabled him to steer clear of any breakers that 
might be ahead, and to reach his desired port in 
safety. 

Often when Hatton or Worthington were about 
to soar away from earth upon the wings of some 
subjective scheme, Strickland called them back by 
a matter-of-fact reminder. 

John Hatton’s business ventures so far had en- 
gaged only his objective mind; he had never thrown 
his real life into those temporal affairs and, as a 
225 


THE TRANSITION 


result, instead of being helped by them, became 
more and more involved until it seemed that ruin 
stared him in the face. 

On several occasions, to save him from great em- 
barrassment, not to say shame and disgrace, his 
father and brother had come to his relief, but the 
time came when they could no longer help him, and 
then John Hatton for the first time realized the 
seriousness of being in debt. 

W. B. Warren had gone to him and with 
deep anxiety and real sorrow, advised, argued 
and pleaded with the young preacher, that he be 
more careful, and if possible save his money 
and free himself from his very distressing situa- 
tion. 

“Let me think of the matter for a few days, 
Brother Warren. I have never given the question 
serious thought, but shall do so at once, and if 
anything is evolved I shall go to you at once,” said 
John Hatton. 

That evening John Hatton sat for hours alone 
in his room. He was thinking of money — how to 
make money — calling to his aid every power of 
mentality, trying to conjure up some practical 
scheme whereby he could obtain plain, “hard cash,” 
with which his debts might be paid and his good 
name cleared. 

The next morning he went directly to the office 
of T. H. Lamar, a prominent professional and busi- 
ness man, one of the leading spirits in Central 
226 


THE TRANSITION 


Church, and a gentleman in whom he had abso- 
lute confidence and upon whose judgment he fully 
relied. 

John Hatton asked of his friend Lamar a patient 
hearing, which was graciously granted. Then the 
young preacher, beginning with his first experience 
away from home, which involved him in debt, re- 
cited to Mr. Lamar how he had neglected giving 
proper attention to those material affairs and chat, 
as a result of his negligence, he found himself fac- 
ing ruin. 

Then, he declared, that while he was a pauper, 
he would not be a beggar, and therefore had bent 
his powers upon devising a business proposition, the 
merits of which he wished Mr. Lamar to pass upon 
after hearing his proposition. 

John Hatton proceeded to state his plan which 
was as clear, logical, self-evident, from a business 
point of view, as had been any sermon he had 
ever preached, from a moral or religious point of 
view. 

“You astonish me, Mr. Hatton,’’ said T. H. La- 
mar, when the young man had concluded his state- 
ment. 

Continuing, Mr. Lamar said : “Your idea alone is 
worth five thousand dollars. There is a fortune in 
your proposition.” 

“But I can do nothing with it, for I am a 
preacher and have no money with which to start it,” 
said John Hatton. . 

227 


THE TRANSITION 


Mr. Lamar reached for the telephone and called 
up Mr. W. B. Warren, who came immediately to 
the office. 

At the request of Mr. Lamar, John Hatton re- 
stated his proposition to Mr. Warren who, if possi- 
ble, was more astonished and delighted than was 
Mr. Lamar. 

“Now, Mr. Warren,’’ said T. H. Lamar, “I 
should be glad personally to go into this business 
with Mr. Llatton, and would be willing to put up 
all the necessary cash, but, knowing you to be deeply 
interested in Mr. Hatton I have called you to my 
office, so that if you desire it, and Mr. Hatton is 
willing, we three will form a partnership, sharing 
equally in the business, you and I paying Mr. Hat- 
ton for two-thirds interest in the same.” 

W. B. Warren readily agreed, the company was 
formed and Albert Strickland was employed to man- 
age the business. 


228 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


Many good people are often misjudged, for the 
reason that those who misjudge them have insuf- 
ficient knowledge of and inability to appreciate the 
laws and workings of our psychic nature. 

That there is within the normal mentality what 
psychologists term the “subjective” and “objective” 
minds, there is not a doubt. 

With some people the subjective is dominant, with 
others the objective predominates .and by this is 
determined, to a very large degree, the turn of 
one’s mind, the bent of one’s nature, the character 
of one’s work. 

That person in whom the objective predominates, 
gets knowledge through the five senses, takes cog- 
nizance of the material, objective world, has to do 
with outside things, is naturally materialistic in 
trend. 

That person in whom the subjective predomi- 
nates, evolves knowledge from the inner world of 
his own being, lives and moves in the psychic realm. 

The objective mind is practical, the subjective 
mind is theoretical. 

John Hatton was, for the most part, subjective. 
He was not a good pastor in the modern sense, for 
the useless, empty things which obtain in the pas- 
229 


THE TRANSITION 

toral functions cannot appeal to one whose inner 
mind is concerned with the great vital problems of 
human life. 

He was misunderstood by the people, for they 
could not comprehend his work, they did not dream 
of his mission ; they could not calculate success, 
save as it appeared upon the face of material things 
and gave color to the passing moment; they could 
not see beneath the surface of the present, and know 
that it was the inevitable result of forces operative 
in the past ; nor, could they look far enough into the 
future to understand that for great and permanent 
success, something more solid and deeper than the 
effervescent sputter of the enthusiastic now, is 
necessary. 


230 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 


From the time when John Hatton delivered the 
sermon which turned the tide in his favor and 
secured his call to the Central Church in Indianati, 
his strength as a preacher steadily increased, but 
attracted no marked attention in that city. 

Time passed before he drew the great audiences 
which filled the auditorium of '‘Old Central.” Dur- 
ing his early ministry he was misunderstood and 
unappreciated by a majority of the members of the 
congregation, but there were the loyal few who be- 
lieved in the final outcome of his work, and stood 
by him. 

“Old Central,” for some years past, had almost 
dropped out of the public mind in Indianati. With 
the exception of the few who yet remained loyal to 
this church, the representative people of the city no 
longer came and went through her doors. 

The papers of Indianati gave but little attention 
to Central Church, or to John Hatton. The fact 
is the papers took little notice of any preacher or 
of any church in Indianati; no one church was 
crowded and no one preacher stood out prominently. 
Not a preacher in that vast city had even a local 
reputation for more than ordinary ability. 

John Hatton’s opportunity to get the ear of the 
231 


THE TRANSITION 

great living, moving public in Indianati, was very 
meager. The streams of humanity flowed in chan- 
nels other than those which ran into the churches. 
The theaters, the public gardens, the concert halls, 
the various places for public amusement were filled 
while struggling, discouraged preachers talked to al- 
most empty pews. 

The small attendance and decreasing membership 
of the churches, did not reduce the current expenses 
of running them. And the ability to meet the ex- 
penses grew less as the financially representative 
membership decreased. 

Bad business methods obtained in the manage- 
ment, and at the end of each year there was a 
large deficit. 

To many of the faithful matters grew more and 
more discouraging. To John Hatton it often 
seemed unendurable. 

To add to the difficulties of the situation, there 
were, of course, a few pessimistic busybodies, ever 
finding fault with the preacher and the management 
of the church, ever ready with gratuitous advice, 
but never ready to encourage those who were trying, 
nor to go down into their own pockets and help 
bear the financial burdens. 

From all outward appearances, it seemed that 
John Hatton’s work at “Old Central” would, as 
had that of several of his predecessors, end in what 
the world calls failure; but he “kept the faith,” 
worked and waited for the coming of a better day. 

232 


THE TRANSITION 


Occasionally he had opportunity to be heard by 
influential citizens, when he spoke in his plain, di- 
rect, unassuming way, and caught the attention of 
the thoughtful. 

Thus he labored on, and finally found himself 
with a large acquaintance, a firm footing, a per- 
manent constituency, a substantial hearing among 
the very best people in Indianati; but, as yet, he 
had not reached the multitudes, he had not filled 
his church ; as yet, too, the financial problem of suc- 
cessfully managing a great church had not been 
worked out. 

Could he reach the masses and could he but raise 
the money necessary, to make the work in ‘‘Old 
Central” eminently successful, the goal of his am- 
bition would be reached, the dream of his life’s 
work realized. 

He knew that something deeper, vaster, more far- 
reaching than any of the transient devices charac- 
teristic of ordinary church methods, would have to 
be made manifest in the life and activities of that 
church, if real success ever came. 

The first and greatest task with him as it has ever 
been, and must ever be, with all who have achieved 
true success — was the conquering of self, the proper 
adjustment of his life with reference to others. 

He realized that so long as the people struggled 
to pay him and so long as he lived upon the money 
received for preaching, two things would be true, 
viz., the masses would feel that he was being paid 

233 


THE TRANSITION 


to preach, and to serve them, that his urging en- 
treaties to heroic Christian duty was only to be ex- 
pected, as that was his business, out of which he 
made his meat and bread; the second fact was that 
so long as he lived and was dependent upon the 
salary paid by the church, the leaders would feel 
that they “owned” him. 

John Hatton finally came to the conclusion that 
he must pray and work for the time to come when 
he could render his services to the church, free of 
charge. 

He felt that then his words would have by far 
more effect upon the people, as no one could say, 
“he is preaching for money.” 

Having reached this decision, John Hatton began 
at once to shape his affairs to that end. 

He took into his confidence T. H. Lamar and M. 
H. Denton, two men whom he trusted and loved. 
They believed in him, respected his opinions, were 
willing and anxious to help him, and entered heart 
and soul into his plans, not without a misgiving on 
their part as to the practicability of his ideas, and 
fearing his plans were visionary. 


234 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Twelve months from the time of the business 
venture of T. H. Lamar, W. B. Warren and John 
Hatton, the indications were that the enterprise 
would be a failure. 

John Hatton was so occupied with his church 
work that he could give but little personal atten- 
tion to the business. 

Albert Strickland did all that one man could 
possibly do, with the facilities at his command, to 
make the venture a success, but so much of his 
thought and time had to be devoted to the personal 
affairs of John Hatton and Bob Morningside, that 
he was unable to successfully carry out the plans 
of the firm necessary to financial success. 

Had it not been for the money earned by John 
Hatton as a preacher and lecturer, at both of 
which he was eminently successful, his career as a 
business man would have been cut short and would 
have ended in utter failure. 

Because of his advanced age and his time being 
fully occupied with other affairs, W. B. Warren, 
after one year’s experience in the firm of Lamar, 
Warren and Hatton retired. 

Although several thousand dollars had been sunk 
in the enterprise during the first year, John Hat- 
235 


THE TRANSITION 


ton retrenched himself by using his income from 
preaching and lecturing, and T. H. Lamar con- 
tinued to advance funds from his personal accounts, 
and the business went on, but with more disastrous 
results. 

Notwithstanding these facts, John Hatton was 
not discouraged. While he was deeply involved, 
his indebtedness having assumed large proportions, 
and with objectively no prospects for any success 
ever coming of his business adventure, he had the 
deep consciousness that the underlying principles 
Upon which the business was founded were in per- 
fect accord with and a part of the universal unit 
of truth, and that these principles, rightly applied, 
must inevitably result in success. 

John Hatton therefore determined to give his 
personal attention to the application of these princi- 
ples, but at the outset of this he was confronted 
with an apparently insurmountable obstacle, viz. : 
his own lack of funds, and the indisposition of T. 
H. Lamar to advance more money — in view of the 
fact that the firm had lost very largely, and just at 
that time the country was in the midst of a financial 
panic. 

Lamar and Hatton talked over the entire situa- 
tion in detail. John Hatton was deeply grieved be- 
cause of his apparent failure, but more especially 
because he had been the means of his friend losing 
so much money. 

T. H. Lamar, in his firm, candid, straightforward 
236 


THE TRANSITION 


way, assured the young man of his true friendship 
for him and begged him not to consider himself 
under any obligation at all. 

The big-hearted lawyer had great sympathy for 
the struggling young preacher. In earlier life he, 
too, had known the meaning of poverty, and had ex- 
perienced the difficulties to be overcome in getting 
on in the world. He also had known the worth of 
a friend in the time of need. He firmly believed in 
Hatton’s integrity, and he determined to stand by 
him. 

John Hatton was deeply moved as T. H. Lamar 
said : “Mr. Hatton, you owe me nothing. I went 
into this business with my eyes open. I believed 
in you and in your proposition. It has not worked 
out as we expected, but I believe you will succeed. 
The money I have put into this is ‘burned powder’ — 
let it go at that. If there is any way I can be of 
service to you in the future, command me.” 

John Hatton arose and took his friend by the 
hand, but was too deeply moved to talk further, 
except to say: “I thank you, Mr. Lamar, for your 
friendship, confidence and kindness. In the sur- 
vival of the fittest such a soul as yours must come 
into its own. I value your friendship more than 
gold. I trust that in the future I may come to be 
able in some degree to show my appreciation of 
what you have done for me. Whatever may be my 
weakness, ingratitude can never be charged to my 


237 


THE TRANSITION 


account and among the few true friends I cherish, 
you are second to none.” 

Yes, although most people who only knew him 
slightly, considered T. H. Lamar a rather cold- 
natured man, there were tears in his eyes, and 
pathetic emotion in his voice, as he said : “Mr. Hat- 
ton, your words are pleasing to me and I thank 
you.” 

John Hatton again reviewed the procession of 
passing realities, to discover, if possible, any forces 
which might be called to his assistance. 

There were two men in the city back of whom 
were mighty instrumentalities and influences which, 
if associated with the instrumentalities and influence 
at his own command, could not fail to bring about 
the large success of which he had dreamed. 

The whole situation opened before him a beau- 
tiful revelation, and in his apparent failure both in 
his church and business relationship in Indianati, 
he saw clearly the hand of Providence and realized 
that this withholding of visible success was only the 
school of preparation for the real success to come 
later. 

These two men were I. Emerson and Henry 
Morgan, and the instrumentalities and influences at 
the command of these two men were not only local, 
but national. 

Emerson, a gigantic, rugged man, not alone in- 
herited a great name from an illustrious father, but 
also a great brain and a great heart, worthy of his 
238 


THE TRANSITION 


ancestry and fully equal to the task of maintaining 
and carrying on with ever increasing success, the 
famous religious journal and publishing business 
founded and bequeathed to him by his father, as a 
precious heritage, and to be cherished and to be 
kept inseparable with their name. 

One distinct faculty of Emerson was his habit 
of ^‘discovering” men and taking a personal interest 
in such individuals as he could put forward. He 
talked little, but observed ever. Many a great 
writer, or preacher, or leader in some distinct move- 
ment he discovered, and helped to success and re- 
nown. 

At an auspicious period in the history of the 
great religious movement in this country, of which 
I. Emerson’s journal was the chief organ, this pe- 
culiar man discovered that the time was ripe for an 
advance movement in Bible study on the part of the 
masses, such as the world had not known before. 
So, quietly, he began looking for a young man with 
the temperament, the mental and spiritual qualities 
and also the powers of physical endurance, to grasp 
the idea, and carry it forward to success, to become, 
with the backing of Emerson and his journal, a 
conspicuous leader of the day in a forward move- 
ment to put the “Open Bible” intelligently into the 
hands of the great masses, and thereby hasten, as in 
no other possible way, the true evangelization of the 
world. 

The true discovery was made in the person of 

239 


THE TRANSITION 


Henry Morgan, who was all and, if possible, more 
than 1. Emerson had sought or expected. At the 
end of three years’ work as Editor of Bible school 
literature, thousands were studying his works, thou- 
sands knew and loved him and as a leader of Bible 
school forces, he stood second to no man in America. 

At the time of the dissolution of partnership be- 
tween John Hatton and T. H. Lamar, Henry Mor- 
gan was at the head of a special Bible school move- 
ment in which there were enlisted, in different parts 
of the United States, two hundred thousand regu- 
lar students, all studying text-books of which he 
was the author, preparing to become teachers in the 
Bible schools of the land. 

John Hatton saw in the combination of the three 
individuals, Emerson, Morgan and himself, and the 
forces represented by these three, the success of his 
business plans. 

He went to Emerson with his proposition. 

Though Hatton did not know it, Emerson had 
been closely watching his career, having in mind 
larger things for the future of the young man at 
“Old Central.” 

John Hatton presented his plans in a simple, 
straightforward way to Emerson, and that gentle- 
man, quick to see through a business proposition, 
at once approved the idea, saying he would present 
it to Henry Morgan, and, should it meet with his 
approval, the deal might be effected at an early date; 


240 


THE TRANSITION 


one week from that day the new arrangement was 
entered into between these three men. 

The depleted treasury of the old firm was turned 
into prosperity in the new. Albert Strickland was 
retained as general manager. John Hatton, because 
of a recent change in his relationship to “Old Cen- 
tral,” was enabled to give more personal attention 
to the business. Henry Morgan came into touch 
with thousands, and used his great influence for the 
success of the business, so far as he could consist- 
ently do so. I. Emerson backed the concern with 
his financial standing and advertised it in his paper, 
which had more than one hundred thousand readers. 

From the day of its reorganization the business 
founded by John Hatton flourished. 

This business was not simply legitimately mer- 
cenary, but was educational, helpful, beneficent in 
the end, to all who patronized it. 

Because of the vast proportions and far-reaching 
plans upon which Hatton’s great scheme was 
launched and executed, these men not only prospered 
themselves, but greatly benefited their patrons. 

So well laid were their plans and so well executed, 
and so large was their patronage, that at the end 
of eighteen months from the date of its organiza- 
tion, the firm of “Emerson, Morgan and Hatton,” 
had cleared above all expenses, seventy-five thousand 
dollars, with every individual who had paid a dollar 
to the concern the wiser, the happier and the better 
for it. 

241 


CHAPTER XXX. 


One of John Hatton’s dreams came true, and one 
of his long cherished hopes was realized when, with 
the success of his business enterprise he found him- 
self able to give his service to the cause of the 
church, free of charge. 

He had fondly looked forward to the day when 
he might announce from his pulpit the fact that no 
longer would he receive remuneration for his serv- 
ices as minister, feeling that all the people would 
rejoice with him, and that his act of self-denial and 
sacrifice would not only be a good example to all 
the members of the church, but would meet with 
general approval. 

For the most part his course was commended, but 
there were a few members of the congregation who 
wondered what he had “up his sleeve.” 

Alas, how sadder is the world because of evil 
suspicion ! How many hearts have been wounded 
and broken because their motives and deeds have 
been misunderstood, and, instead of being encour- 
aged and appreciated, have been criticized and 
hounded to despair because of the evil-minded who, 
with evil eyes have looked only for evil, have 
thought only evil and with no vision except for evil, 
have called that which was good evil. 

242 


THE TRANSITION 


There were some people in “Old Central” Church 
who, from the beginning of John Hatton’s ministry 
there, did not like him, and secretly did everything 
they could to thwart his plans, overthrow his work, 
and destroy his influence; but up to the time when 
he felt that he could render a nobler service by 
being free from a mercenary consideration upon his 
part, he labored faithfully and paid little attention 
to his critics or enemies. 

For years he had been convinced that true service 
to Christ and humanity should be unrequited; he 
felt that the commercializing of Christianity in any 
sense can but be detrimental to the cause. 

John Hatton’s theme in thought and word was 
that service, sacrifice and love, are the successive 
steps in the altar-stairs that lead up to the mercy- 
seat where peace abides. 

From his pulpit and in private conversation he 
ever pleaded with the people, both the rich and the 
poor, to render a nobler service to God and the 
people, by lifting the standard of Christian duty 
and religious work above the plane of commercial- 
ism by which one is expected to do so much work 
for so much pay, and by which so many would 
serve God by proxy, feeling that they may hire 
others to do their religious duty for them. 

He longed to see that false system which distin- 
guishes between the clergy and the people abol- 
ished, not only in that the clergy is expected to do 
the religious work for the people, but to be pious 

243 


THE TRANSITION 


and good for them as well. This false system, he 
claimed, had created two standards of propriety 
and conduct, one for the ministry and one for the 
people. Christ abolished this system, John Hatton 
claimed, when He called His followers, irrespective 
of class distinction, a “kingdom of priests unto 
God,” thereby placing all upon one common level, 
with one standard of morals and duty for all, com- 
manding all to be messengers of truth, all to be 
preachers of the gospel. 

A salaried ministry was unknown in the New 
Testament church, and that system has lessened, and 
must continue to lessen the force and influence of 
the preachers of the Word. 

From a purely “business” or mercenary point of 
view, the standard of ability on the part of the min- 
istry has been lowered by the system, because the 
average salary received by the average preacher is 
very small. As a business consideration, there are 
no inducements for young men of strong parts, to 
enter the ministry, and, as the mercenary the com- 
mercial spirit is dominant in this age, we note a 
great falling oflf, both in numbers and in ability, of 
those who are choosing the ministry for their life 
work; but this very plutocratic spirit of the age will 
drive out of the divine work of saving the world, 
those who would turn it into a commercial proposi- 
tion and preach the gospel and save souls at “so 
much per.” 


244 


THE TRANSITION 


Finally, with the preaching of the gospel elevated 
to the lofty plane of voluntary service, the standard 
or quality of preaching would be elevated. Every 
preacher then would be ranked according to his abil- 
ity, his consecration, and willingness to serve. He 
suggested that in all our churches there were people 
of great ability, eminently successful in other walks 
of life, who, had they the opportunity could and 
would deliver the gospel message with power, but 
have not done so, because the paid ministry, while 
perhaps not realizing it, have a “corner on the gos- 
pel” and constitute a theological trust. 

John Hatton believed and felt all these things, and 
worked and prayed for business success, not for the 
sake of having money, but that he might be free to 
demonstrate in his own life and work what had by 
faith and conviction, been wrought into his very 
'being. 

He longed above all other things to see the work 
at “Old Central” a world-renov/ned success, not for 
his own glory, but for the good of mankind. 

It was a happy day when John Hatton, by the 
approval of his official board, was enabled to an- 
nounce that he would continue as their minister, but 
without pay for his work. 

Some good members of the church feared that 
this decrease in the expenses of the church would 
cause a great falling off in the contributions, but, in- 
stead of that being true, the total receipts of the 


245 


THE TRANSITION 

church, after John Hatton began preaching without 
pay, were more than double that of any previous 
year in the history of “Old Central.” John Hatton 
contributed largely from his income, he preached 
Christian beneficence as he had never done before, 
and all the people, moved by his earnestness and en- 
couraged by his example, contributed according to 
their ability. 

Not only did the contributions increase, but the 
crowds flocked to the church to hear the message 
the plain business man was delivering “without 
money and without price.” 

The rich, moved by John Hatton’s example, came 
and contributed from their riches to the Lord’s 
treasury; the poor, because they knew that in John 
Hatton they had a friend, and that the people of 
“Old Central” loved and welcomed them, and helped 
them in times of need, also came in great throngs 
and found rest to their weary bodies and hope for 
their future. 

The Church in Indianati became known far and 
wide, and all strangers who were in the habit of 
attending church, and many who never thought of 
attending elsewhere, made it a point, when they 
chanced to be in Indianati over Sunday, to go to 
“Old Central” and hear John Hatton. 

John Hatton’s business prospered though he gave 
it but little personal attention, yet, thousands of 
dollars each year came to him from that source, the 


246 


THE TRANSITION 


greater part of which he gave to some beneficent 
cause. He often prayed to God for guidance in 
dispensing this money, and for grace to avoid think- 
ing of it, save as a means by which he might do 
good. He thanked God for the demonstration in 
his own life of the words of the Master, ‘‘Seek ye 
first God’s kingdom, and God’s righteousness, and 
all these things shall be added unto you.” 


247 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


One of the very few epoch-making books of mod- 
ern times was one that appeared less than a decade 
ago, bearing the unique title, ‘‘The Tower of Trin- 
ityT 

The theme of the story was drawn from exist- 
ing conditions in the social, religious and financial 
life of the day. 

Throughout the book there was a beautiful ro- 
mance, reaching culmination in the happy union of 
two lives whose origins were widely different. The 
hero sprang from poverty, in an obscure district in 
the far West; the heroine was a daughter of one 
of Wall Street’s richest and most conspicuous per- 
sonages. 

The young man of the story found the “plutoc- 
racy” of Wall Street very different from his precon- 
ceived opinions, gained from the meager misrepre- 
sentations of the “money kings” which had come to 
him through the prejudiced masses. 

The force of circumstances under a strange prov- 
idence had, as it were, snatched this young man 
from among the plebeians — one of whom he was and 
one of whom he delighted ever to remain, and pitch- 
forked him into the very centre of the world’s money 
market. He was also thrown, by force of circum- 
248 


THE TRANSITION 


stances, into personal association with some of the 
world’s richest men, and found himself received 
into the inner home life of a man conspicuous in a 
circle of multi-millionaires. 

From childhood this young man had been taught 
that to be rich was synonymous with being wicked, 
that no rich man could ever enter heaven. 

He was surprised to find this man to be intensely 
human and humanly kind. He was surprised, 
agreeably so, to find this rich man’s family also very 
human, and that they were capable of feelings, and 
appreciative of sympathy, especially the beautiful 
daughter. 

The two grew to know eacn other well and to 
love each other devotedly; ere long they were mar- 
ried, receiving the blessings of the young lady’s 
parents. 

The great prince of finance rejoiced that his 
daughter had met, loved and married a mun — a 
real, true, worthy man. He rejoiced, too, because 
in this marriage there was a practical demonstration 
that there is no essential barrier between capital and 
labor, that the castes and classes growing out of 
monetary conditions are unnatural and artificial, 
that a true man is not to be measured by what he 
has, but by what he is. 

Thus, “Hans Ellil” wove into his story a simple, 
beautiful romance, but underlying it was a master- 
ful discussion of the great sociological problem of 
the times. 


249 


THE TRANSITION 


The title of the book was peculiarly suggestive, 
for the most famous of all American churches is old 
“Trinity,” on Broadway, at the head of Wall Street. 

The spirit of the book was refreshingly opti- 
mistic. The author illustrated the truth of the uni- 
versal fraternity of man and the universal need of 
all classes and conditions for a superhuman power 
to save them from selfishess and sin, by the “Tower, 
of Trinity” upon the top of which stands the cross, 
the emblem of humility, the symbol of power, the 
sign of eternal dominion, all of which is embodied 
in the life and teaching of the One who “went about 
doing good.” 

“The Tower of Trinity” was a plea for an appli- 
cation of the Golden Rule in the real fraternity of 
man. It was a plea for the recognition of the real 
worth of everyone in his true place. It empha- 
sized the universal obligation of everyone to “go 
about doing good,” even as did the Christ, and that 
the rich may be as Christian and as effectually re- 
produce the Christ-life, as may the poor. 

The book was exceedingly simple, plain and di- 
rect, but it touched a responsive chord in the human 
heart. The poor rejoiced because one from their 
class had triumphed, and still stood upon a sympa- 
thetic level with them. The rich were pleased that 
one had arisen who had seen and correctly inter- 
preted their life. 

At the suggestion of an Ex-President of the 
United States, a conference of fifty American mil- 
250 


THE TRANSITION 


lionaires was called to meet in Trinity church, to 
inaugurate a movement for the amelioration of the 
sad condition of the suffering thousands of our 
large cities. 

At this meeting a plan was set into motion by 
which, in a systematic way, multiplied millions 
would be turned into a channel that should flow 
through the destitute districts of the cities, carrying 
upon its bosom healing and life. 

Multitudes wondered who had written “The 
Tower of Trinity.” 


251 


CHAPTER XXXIL 


John Hatton found himself upon the verge of 
nervous prostration; he had carried the responsi- 
bilities and had done practically the work of three 
men. Upon him had rested the great anxiety and 
tremendously heavy task of making a conspicuous 
success of the work at Old Central Church; also, 
he had thrown his life’s energy into the business 
enterprise in which he was engaged, and with un- 
ceasing vigilance had pushed it to victory; and, be- 
sides the tasks above mentioned, either of which 
was enough for any one man to perform with safety 
to his physical and mental health, he in the quiet 
hours of the night,- and at such spare moments as 
he could from time to time snatch from the busy 
hours of the day, engaged in still another work 
which, ere long, was to bring him fame and for- 
tune, far beyond that yielded by his efforts in the 
pulpit and in the world of business. 

The expectant multitudes that attended upon John 
Hatton’s ministry at Old Central, while being a 
great inspiration to the preacher, were unconscious 
of the fact that their very presence and unabated 
interest in the message he delivered from time to 
time, was undermining his strength, sapping his vi- 
252 


THE TRANSITION 


tality and hastening the young preacher to an early 
collapse and an untimely end. 

The coming of the crowds, caused him with each 
successive effort to place the standard, of his pulpit 
performance still higher. The thought weighed 
upon him continually that the people were expect- 
ing much of him, and they must not be disappointed. 

Those nearest to John Hatton viewed with alarm 
signs whereby they discovered that his strength and 
powers were beginning to wane. This was not no- 
ticeable to the masses who saw him only in the pul- 
pit, but his closest friends and intmate associates 
knew that on Sunday evenings he often went to his 
room in utter collapse and all night tossed nervously 
upon his bed. Frequently a physician had to be 
called to administer some opiate before rest would 
come. 

It was also noticeable that the preacher was be- 
coming exceedingly sensitive and nervous, often 
showing himself unreasonably irritable upon the 
slightest provocation. 

Most of John Hatton’s friends were wise and 
generous enough to attribute these unpleasant mani- 
festations upon his part to his overworked condi- 
tion of mind and body, and at the same time to 
regard them with no little apprehension. 

It was after a few weeks of complete indisposi- 
tion that, upon the advice of his physician and close 
friend. Dr. B. A. Traxler, a renowned specialist 
of Iqdianati, that John Hatton agreed to take a 
253 


THE TRANSITION 


two months’ vacation, and go to the country for rest 
and recreation. Accordingly, he went to Tennes- 
see and spent two weeks with the loved ones and 
friends of his childhood days. 

By agreement he met his old friend Sam Lang- 
don in Nashville, and returned with him to Prince- 
ton for a visit among his friends, in that town from 
which his heart had never departed. 

While in many respects John Hatton’s visit to 
Princeton was to him a source of great pleasure, it 
was in some other ways productive of deep sorrow 
and depression. 

Some causes of John Hatton’s sadness on re- 
visiting Princeton shall not here be mentioned, save 
the fact that he had ever carried with him and kept 
sacredly, a ring, which upon a former occasion had 
been committed to his safe-keeping until the coming 
of a glad day, to which, through all his arduous la- 
bors in the time that had intervened, he had fondly 
looked. But now, upon his return to Princeton, in- 
stead of feeling nearer to his heart’s desire, it ap- 
peared that his goal was farther away than ever 
before, and the future held no prospect of his ever 
reaching it. 

By a previous agreement of long standing, John 
Hatton and Sam Langdon no more discussed a 
sweet sad subject, upon which in other days they 
had delighted to dwell. All of John Hatton’s 
friends in Princeton, too, seemed to understand that 
there was one question too delicate and sacred with 

254 


THE TRANSITION 


him to be mentioned by them, and during his ex- 
tended visit in the historic old town, a certain name 
was not mentioned in his presence. 

One afternoon Sam Langdon suggested to his 
friend that they take a drive into the country, to 
which John Hatton gladly agreed. 

Driving out a not much traveled country road, 
Sam Langdon, after having gone about two miles, 
with an unusual tenderness and pathos in his voice 
said, “Johnnie, you may wonder why I am driving 
out this way, but there is something out here you 
will be interested to see.” 

“What is it, Sam?” asked John Hatton. 

“I prefer to wait, and have you see for yourself,” 
answered Langdon. 

At this point Langdon turned his horse into a 
narrow lane, drove down a few hundred yards, and 
stopped in front of a briar thicket, surrounded by 
a thick undergrowth of bushes, and rickety old rail 
fence. Inside this enclosure stood a few old cedar 
trees. The place was the family graveyard of the 
colored Tarvins. 

The graves in this burying ground were not nu- 
merous, but some of them were very old. There 
were two, however, which had not long been made, 
and these were the last to be laid to their final rest 
in this weird ghostly place. 

At the head of each of these graves stood a simple 
marble slab which Colonel Tarvin had caused to be 
placed there. Upon one was the inscription: 

255 


THE TRANSITION 


Here Lies 

The Mortal Remains 
of 

—Stephen Tarvin — (Colored) — 

He was true and faithful 
In bondage and in freedom. 

“Peace be to his ashes” — 

His soul be at Rest with God. 

Upon the other slab was the following inscrip- 
tion: 

Here Lies 

The Mortal Remains 
of 

— Eliza Tarvin — (Colored) — 

She was true and faithful 
In bondage and in freedom. 

“Peace be to her ashes” — 

Her soul be at Rest with God. 

John Hatton stood over those graves with un- 
covered head and with bowed heart. He remem- 
bered the night when Uncle Stephen waited upon 
the deserted streets of Princeton to bid him good- 
by, and thought of all the faithful old negro had 
done for him. He likewise remembered Aunt 
Eliza, how good, how kind, how gentle and faithful 
she had been ! 

256^ 


THE TRANSITION 


When he had sufficiently recovered to talk, he 
said, ‘^Sam, how glad I am that you brought me 
here! Tell me about their illness. When did they 
die, the dear old creatures T' 

“They were not ill long,. John,” said Langdon, 
tenderly, “for it was not long after something hap- 
pened which we cannot now discuss, that they both 
seemed to just pine away. 

“The last words Uncle Stephen uttered,” Lang- 
don went on saying, “were, ‘God bless Mas’ John 
Hatton, an’ God bless — bless huh HI heart.’ ” 

“The last words Aunt Eliza spoke,” continued 
Langdon, “were, ‘God bless my baby, and bring huh 
back to Mas’ John.’ ” 

Turning to his friend, John said, “Sam, they were 
both plain colored people, and once they were bound 
by the shackles of slavery, but within those dark 
bodies dwelled two heroic spirits. Their bodies 
have returned to the dust which knows no distinc- 
tion of color, and their blessed spirits are pure and 
white as the holiest of the angels in the presence of 
God. The memory of them is to me now a bene- 
diction.” 


257 


CHAPTER XXXIIL 


John Hatton’s friends were disappointed at see- 
ing, upon his return from a two months’ vacation, 
that his general condition instead of being im- 
proved was, if anything, worse than when he went 
away. 

On the first occasion of worship at Central Church 
after his return, a great throng gathered to hear 
him, but the young preacher was not himself, and 
throughout the preliminary exercises was so per- 
turbed as to attract the attention and provoke the 
anxiety of all. 

There was in his eyes a vacant stare, his fingers 
twitched nervously, his face was pale, his body ema- 
ciated. 

There was no coherency in his introductory re- 
marks, and he paused, looking wistfully about him. 
Upon his face was a pained expression too pitiable 
to be described. A feeling of agony seized the 
entire audience, so deep was their sympathy for the 
young man whom they loved, but for whose mental 
and physical condition they now felt the gravest 
apprehension. 

John Hatton stood clasping the railing of the 
pulpit. So tense was the anxiety of the people, 
that it seemed very long, until W. B. Warren who 
258 


THE TRANSITION 


occupied a pew near the pulpit, arose and stepped 
upon the rostrum, and, touching the young preacher 
upon the arm, said, "‘Brother Hatton, are you ill?” 

The touch of that good man’s hand seemed to 
restore John Hatton to a normal condition. Color 
came into his face, his nerves were steadied, his eye 
was clear, but his whole being appeared completely 
exhausted. 

The young man looked fondly and longingly into 
the face of the elderly gentleman to whom he was 
so devoted, and kindly said, “I thank you. Brother 
Warren — presently I shall be myself again — per- 
haps I can proceed.” 

With some hesitancy the venerable but gallant 
gentleman returned to his seat. 

John Hatton at once realized his condition, and, 
knowing that it would be impossible for him to con- 
tinue the sermon, undertook to make a few remarks 
of explanation and apology before taking his seat. 

So deep was his emotion, that it was with diffi- 
culty that he gave expression to the feeling that 
stirred within him. 

He said, “My beloved and true friends, it is with 
deep regret that I am compelled to disappoint you 
to-day. I have learned to love you; your loving, 
sympathetic faces have been my inspiration. I have 
labored with and for you, and you have been my 
solace and stay. I have bestowed my heart’s true 
love upon you as a people. You will pardon my 
weakness now, my dear people, when I tell you that 

259 


THE TRANSITION 


some strange, luring voice has been calling me — 
calling from afar. I know not whence this voice 
comes, but to me it is not unfamiliar. To it I have 
tried to turn a deaf ear, but still it calls, and to 
longer refuse to hear and answer means my death. 

“To follow this voice, I must cross the sea, and 
roam, rest and wait in foreign lands. My only hope 
is to obey the summons of that voice. This, then, is 
perhaps the last time that we shall have communion 
together. I am ill — I must close. 

“Let us proceed to the communion. Will you, 
my dear people, enter with us solemnly into this ap- 
propriation of, in symbol and by faith, the body and 
blood of our crucified Lord, for our redemption 
from sin.’’ 

Elder Dunkerman presided at the table, and the 
prayers of consecration offered by him and Elder 
Denton were different from any other prayers ever 
heard at that table. They both prayed as though 
they were prophets and had a clear vision of the 
future. They asked the Almighty to be with their 
Brother Hatton through his illness, and to go with 
him and save him from the perils of the sea, and 
to protect him while in foreign lands. 

With solemn tread the deacons passed the ele- 
ments of communion to the great assembly whose 
hearts were bowed in deep and mysterious rever- 
ence ; the music passed from the mystic, weird, wail- 
ing theme to that of the calmest, sweetest, yet tri- 
umphant song. 


260 


THE TRANSITION 


John Hatton sat through it all as in a trance. 

When the services were finished, W. B. Warren 
arose, and calmly said, ‘‘Dear friends. Brother Hat- 
ton is not well to-day. I fear he is seriously ill, 
and kindly ask that you will not come forward after 
the benediction. Will some one provide a carriage 
at the door? Let us stand and be dismissed.” 

The audience arose, and John Hatton in trying 
to stand, fell forward, prone upon the platform. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


‘"All visitors, ashore!”’ “Everybody except pas- 
sengers must now go ashore!” cried officers on the 
steamship Princess Irene ^ a few minutes before she 
was to move out from the Hoboken pier for the long 
voyage to Naples. 

Thousands who had come to say good-by to their 
friends and witness the departure of the ship, were 
standing upon the pier; hundreds of passengers and 
many visitors crowded the decks of the noble vessel. 

Seated upon a steamer chair on the promenade 
deck, not yet having recovered sufficient strength 
after his long illness to enable him to stand or to 
move about among the people, was John Hatton. 

Standing by either side of him were his friends, 
Sam Langdon and R. A. Strickland. 

Langdon had come all the way from Princeton, 
stopping over a few days at Indianati to be with his 
friend, and to accompany him to New York, and 
take leave of him on board the ship. 

Strickland, through Hatton’s ministry and work 
in Indianati had remained constant to him; in fact, 
in most of his personal and business matters, had 
acted as his personal representative. It was but 
natural that he should accompany Hatton to Europe, 
especially as in his weakened condition the young 
262 


THE TRANSITION 


preacher was not able to assume any cares or re- 
sponsibilities. 

It was during convalescence frorn a long illness 
dating from the day of John Hatton’s collapse, that 
his friend and physician, Dr. Traxler, advised that 
so soon as the young man was physically able, he 
should take a sea voyage. The doctor thought that 
the absolute rest of the voyage, freedom from care, 
absence from the scenes of toil, strife and continued 
strain, together with a long vacation in Europe, 
would restore him to the health and vigor of for- 
mer days. 

For weeks after the eventful day when John 
Hatton was last seen in his pulpit, his life was de- 
spaired of. The people were anguish-stricken when 
they saw him fall; many of them wept and sobbed, 
for they thought he was dead. Restoratives were 
hastily administered by some physicians who wxre 
present, and the people were in a measure relieved 
when it was announced that he had only fainted, 
and that there was no occasion for alarm. 

But, in fact, John Hatton was carried to his room, 
more dead than alive ; his physical vitality was 
nearly gone, and his lamp of reason was burning 
low. He talked but little, and that with voice very 
weak and ideas incoherent. In moments of delirium 
he talked only of “the sea” — “the voice that calls 
me” — “those distant lands,” etc. 

For weeks he lingered between life and death. 
His physicians said that he had no organic disease, 
263 


THE TRANSITION 


but that it was simply a collapse, a complete break- 
down of body and mind, caused by overwork. Dr. 
Traxler said he believed the young man had been 
bearing some heavy burden, feeling some deep anx- 
iety, carrying some great sorrow of which but few, 
if any, knew, and that this hastened his breakdown. 

At last, under skillful treatment and careful nurs- 
ing, the patient began to improve. Knowing John 
Hatton’s strong attachment to Sam Langdon, R. 
A. Strickland had, from the beginning of John Hat- 
ton’s illness, kept Langdon informed as to the 
preacher’s condition ; when he was strong enough to 
see his friends, Langdon was one of the first to 
visit him. 

It was while Langdon was with Hatton that it 
was decided that he should leave Indianati and take 
the ocean voyage, and it was agreed that Langdon 
should return to Indianati and with R. A. Strick- 
land accompany John Hatton to New York and see 
him aboard ship, as soon as he was strong enough 
to make the journey. 

Instead of his being injured as his physicians 
thought he might be by the frequent calls of his 
many friends, John Hatton appeared to be bene- 
fited by them, and insisted upon seeing and talking 
with all who came. 

Among his most frequent visitors and deeply in- 
terested friends was Elder C. 1. Dunkerman. While 
being of that peculiar temperament which perhaps 
rendered him incapable of the strong, but tender 
264 


THE TRANSITION 


attachment that bound many of John Hatton’s 
friends to him, Elder Dunkerman was genuinely in- 
terested in him. Beyond this personal regard, he 
(Dunkerman) had a wider view and more prac- 
tical interest in the matter of John Hatton’s going 
away, for he considered it with reference to the 
needs of the church both in Indianati and at large. 
He felt that John Hatton’s work was not yet com- 
pleted, and that it would be a calamity to the work 
so nobly begun and grandly carried forward in In- 
dianati, that the cause of pure, practical Christianity 
everywhere would suffer great loss should the young 
preacher’s career be cut short. 

It was therefore at Elder Dunkerman’s sugges- 
tion that the Official Board of Central Church rec- 
ommended to the congregation that their minister 
be granted a leave of absence for one year, that he 
spend this time abroad, and that the church present 
him with three thousand dollars with which to pay 
his expenses; Elder Dunkerman himself headed 
the subscription list with one thousand dollars. 

While the members of the church knew John 
Hatton to be abundantly able to bear his own ex- 
penses for such an outing, they unanimously and 
gladly adopted the suggestion of the board, and 
within a few minutes the entire amount was raised. 

John Hatton’s heart was rejoiced at this expres- 
sion of love and confidence, this manifestation of 
deep interest in his welfare on the part of the peo- 


265 


THE TRANSITION 


pie he loved so much, and joyfully he accepted their 
offer. 

All arrangements for the trip having been made 
by R. A. Strickland, on the appointed day, the three 
men, Hatton, Strickland and Langdon, left for New 
York. 

When the hour arrived for the ship to leave, as 
hundreds were saying good-by ’mid smiles and 
tears, Langdon, holding Hatton’s hand with firm 
grasp, said, ^‘Brother John, I expect you to return 
a happier man, more than rewarded for all your 
labors and for all you have suffered. You will hear 
from me often, and you write me as you may feel 
disposed. I trust the voice which in your weakened 
physical condition you heard was not calling in vain. 
God is leading you into your own. May He be 
with you and by Him may you be returned to us, 
but not alone !” 

‘‘All visitors must go ashore at once, the gang- 
way will be let down and the ship will start in five 
minutes !” shouted one of the ship’s officers. 

The great whistle of the steamer was blowing, 
and everybody was hurrying to and fro, as these 
two loyal friends gripped each other’s hands, say- 
ing “good-by,” and “God bless you.” 

The ropes were already unfastened, the men were 
just in the act of lowering the gangway when 
Langdon leaped from the ship upon the big plank, 
and holding to a suspending rod was swung over 
the pier. This was at the risk of his life, and sub- 
266 


THE TRANSITION 


jected him to a severe reprimand from a police 
officer who was standing by. 

Gently, steadily, like a thing of life the big 
steamer moved away from the pier. The captain 
with several other officers in brilliant uniform stood 
upon the bridge. The decks were crowded with 
passengers leaning upon the railings waving and 
shouting good-by to the hundreds upon the shore. 

The little ‘‘tug” had done its work of pulling the 
big ship out into the current of the great river, the 
ponderous engines began to work, the mighty 
screws began to turn, and with prow headed to- 
ward the far-plunging Atlantic; the journey was 
begun. 

“Well, Parson, we are off,” said R. A. Strickland, 
addressing John Hatton in a jocular way. 

Upon John Hatton’s face there was a serene 
smile, an expression of restfulness and contentment. 


267: 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


The voyage from New York to Gibraltar, where 
the Princess Irene stopped for a few hours, was 
without unusual incident. 

John Hatton made the most of every hour, drink- 
ing in strength and vigor from the pure sea at- 
mosphere. For the time being at least, he was in 
transition, leaving an old life behind him, and fac- 
ing the new. 

The ten days occupied between New York and 
Gibraltar worked a marvelous change. His com- 
plexion was cleared; the lines which had been fur- 
rowed by care and worry, were smoothed out ; a new 
lustre glowed in his eyes ; his nerves were steady, his 
step elastic, his spirit buoyant. When with his fel- 
low passengers he stepped ashore to inspect the 
world-famed fortress of Gibraltar, John Hatton was 
a well man. 

*Wou are feeling pretty good, aren’t you par- 
son?” remarked his friend Strickland, as they drove 
away from the pier at Gibraltar for a little tour of 
the interesting town, while the ship was waiting. 

‘T am, that I am,” replied Hatton, ‘Tut say, Al,” 
he continued, “you must not call me ‘parson.’ I 
don’t want anybody we may chance to meet to know 
that I’m a preacher. When I think of my trying 
268 


THE TRANSITION 


experiences as a preacher, and of how near to death’s 
door the ministry and all things connected with it 
brought me, I would like to forget it, at least until 
we return home, and I take up the work again.” 

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Mr. Hatton,” said 
Strickland. 

“Now, that sounds better,” said Hatton. “Un- 
derstand,” he continued, “while we shall violate no 
moral law, shall do nothing of which we would be 
ashamed, we are out for a good time; and, so far 
as I’m concerned, I propose to have it.” 

“Shake, old man,” said Strickland, extending his 
hand. 

The three hours at Gibraltar is an occasion one 
can never forget. Besides serving as a delightful 
break in the journey, the first experience of visit- 
ing this wonderful fortification where it seems that 
the God of nature conspired with man to set this 
impregnable guardianship over the entrance to the 
Mediterranean, is an event to be classed with those 
ecstatic heights not often attained along life’s way. 

But connected with John Hatton’s first stop at 
Gibraltar there was another event, compared with 
which all other things there, calculated to make last- 
ing impressions, were utterly insignificant. 

As is usually the case, many of the passengers 
from New York debarked at Gibraltar to visit in 
Spain; also a number of new passengers embarked 
at Gibraltar for Naples and Genoa. 

No more enchanting scene was ever witnessed 
269 


THE TRANSITION 

than that afforded the passengers of the good ship 
Princess Irene as, late that afternoon, she steamed 
through the straits and made for the open Mediter- 
ranean. In the background was the towering for- 
tress, and sinking behind it the glorious sun. The 
historic associations connected with the surround- 
ings, the poetry and romance in the lives of men 
and nations, in other days where proud fleets had 
sailed thither, some to sudden destruction, others 
to receive friendly greeting — all conspired to set 
one’s nerves tingling, and to make one’s heart beat 
faster. 

Thus enchanted, John Hatton sat in his accus- 
tomed place on the upper promenade deck, with R. 
A. Strickland by his side, when, his eyes were 
blinded to Gibraltar ; no longer saw he the glories of 
the setting sun; history, legend and song lost their 
interest. 

Leisurely walking toward Hatton and Strickland 
were three passengers, two of whom were among 
those who had come aboard at Gibraltar. The 
three referred to were a young man and two young 
ladies. The young man, evidently a brother of one 
of the young ladies, was walking between them ; the 
young lady next to the railing John Hatton recog- 
nized as one of the passengers from New York; the 
strange young lady walked on the inner side of her 
brother, and was nearest to Hatton and Strickland 
as they passed by. 

The young lady from New York bowed a slight 
270 


THE TRANSITION 


but courteous recognition of Hatton and Strickland, 
and both of these gentlemen lifted their caps in 
response. The young man with the two young 
ladies returned the salute by lifting his cap, and the 
strange young lady slightly inclined her head with- 
out looking toward Hatton and Strickland. 

John Hatton looked after her until the party of 
three turned the corner and passed from view. 

‘*A1, she is beautiful,” said John Hatton, after 
gazing for a moment at the grand receding rock of 
Gibraltar without seeing it. “Yes, she is wonder- 
fully, deliciously beautiful!” he added with zest. 

“Which one?” asked Strickland, with a shrug of 
the shoulders and a quizzical glance. 

“Such grace, such a form, such a presence 1” went 
on John. “There is the poetry, romance and trag- 
edy of Italy and Spain in her smile!” 

As he spoke the three again drew near. 

As they passed immediately in front of Hatton 
and Strickland, the beautiful young creature in the 
most delightful English, addressing the other young 
lady with voice so mellow, so musical, so sweetly 
modulated as to seem more angelic than human, 
said, “Cousin, I have just finished reading a most 
wonderful American book — The Tower of Trinity,’ 
and I think it is lovely. Can you tell me who the 
author is? I should love to know. Oh, how I 
should like to meet the author of that book!” 

A thousand emotions were surging through John 
Hatton’s heart and brain. The bugle was sound- 
271 


THE TRANSITION 


ing the call to dinner, and, as Hatton arose, me- 
chanically, involuntarily, he put his finger into his 
vest pocket and touched a ring. Was it an un- 
seen, a mysterious power that guided John Hatton’s 
hand to that ring, or was it only an accident? 

Some of the people who had seats at the same 
table with John Hatton and Albert Strickland had 
left the ship at Gibraltar, and to his great surprise 
these places were occupied by passengers who had 
come aboard at that place. The young lady from 
New York also had obtained an exchange of seats, 
and she, with her two cousins with whom she had 
been promenading, were among the new ones at 
John Hatton’s table. 

When all were seated, this young lady, Miss Pao- 
lina Carraro, introduced to Messrs. Hatton and 
Strickland her two relatives from Gibraltar, Jose 
Juan and his sister Vesta. 

By prearrangement these two young people had 
joined their cousin at Gibraltar, and the three were 
going to spend the summer in the beautiful villa 
owned by the Juans, at Lugano, Switzerland. 

John Hatton, the Juans and Miss Carraro entered 
at once into mutually pleasant conversation. Albert 
Strickland was an interested listener, but as was his 
usual custom, had little to say upon first acquaint- 
ance. 

During the dinner hour the conversation con- 
veyed to Hatton and Strickland the interesting facts 
that Miss Carraro’s mother was a sister to the 
272 


THE TRANSITION 


father of the two young people who had joined her 
at Gibraltar. The parents of these young people 
had died several years before, leaving large estates 
to their children. The Carraros many years back 
had left Italy and sought and obtained their for- 
tune in America. Their only child, Paolina, with 
unlimited means at her command, lived alternately 
in America and Europe, spending much time with 
her relatives at Gibraltar. 

But in John Hatton’s eyes the attractiveness of 
all others, for the time, was eclisped by the tran- 
scendent charms and beauty of his new-found ac- 
quaintance, Vesta Juan. She, too, was an accom- 
plished linguist; her voice to John Hatton was 
sweetest music. She had never visited America, 
but had become deeply interested in the recent lit- 
erature of that land, especially a book that she had 
just finished, “The Tower of Trinity.” 

Addressing John Hatton personally, she said, 
“Mr. Hatton, you have read the book, have you 
not?” 

“With considerable interest,” John Hatton re- 
plied, as with great difficulty he concealed the em- 
barrassment into which he was thrown. 

“I notice it is published under a nom de plume/' 
remarked the young lady. “Could you tell me the 
author’s real name?” she added. 

John Hatton blushed and stammered some inaudi- 
ble something, his confusion being quite noticeable. 

At this point Albert Strickland, always equal to 

273 


THE TRANSITION 


the emergency, completely diverted the attentidn 
of the little group by appearing to have lodged a 
fish bone in his throat. Excusing himself, and ask- 
ing Hatton to go with him in quest of the ship sur- 
geon. 

The two men hurried to the upper deck, and when 
in safe distance from any who might hear, Strick- 
land said, “Old fellow, it might not have been a 
very elegant way to do it, but I had to extricate 
you. You were in a close place, and I did the first 
thing that came into my mind.” 

“Al, you certainly are a trump. I’m obliged to 
you, but, shall we not return to the table?” 

“Of course! There’s no keeping of you away. 
The game is started, and will have to be played to 
the end. Honest, I must confess that I cannot see 
your finish,” replied Strickland. 

Without further comment, the two men returned 
to the dining-saloon. 

As they walked down the stairway again John 
Hatton’s fingers involuntarily went into his vest 
pocket and touched the ring. A sensation of com- 
mingled sadness, associated with that ring, and of 
joy on beholding the beautiful Vesta stirred within 
him and marked the beginning of an inward con- 
flict which should ere long reach a culmination yet 
undreamed of. 

The gentlemen resumed their places at the table, 
with Strickland yet red in the face from the ex- 
perience with the fish bone. Hatton informed the 
274 


THE TRANSITION 


friends that the bone had been extricated without 
the aid of the surgeon, and had been “committed 
to the sea whence it came.” With expressions of 
mirthful gratification the company received the in- 
telligence and suggested that Mr. Strickland con- 
fine himself to less dangerous diet. 

After dinner Jose Juan went to the smoking- 
saloon, and John Hatton, Albert Strickland and the 
two young ladies fell into line with the many who 
were walking on deck, Albert with Paolina, and 
John with Vesta. 

For John Hatton, this beautiful daughter of the 
old world held a strange new fascination, different 
from anything he had ever felt. As her hand 
gently rested upon his arm, as her musical voice 
charmed his ear, he felt as though he had started 
upon a journey which, his heart wished, might never 
end. She interested him, she thrilled him, she cap- 
tivated him. 

Albert Strickland and Paolina Carraro walked 
in front, and it was at their suggestion, after go- 
ing around the ship eleven times, making a mile, 
that the walk was terminated. The gentlemen bade 
the young ladies good night, Hatton and Strickland 
going to the smoking-saloon to join the young Jose 
Juan. 

In the conversation that followed between the 
three young men, Italy, Spain and America were 
discussed at length. 

The Spanish-American war was one topic of the 

275 


THE TRANSITION 


conversation, young Jose pathetically relating how 
his only brother, who had been a Lieutenant in the 
Spanish Navy, had lost his life in that memorable 
battle in which Admiral Cervera’s fleet had been 
captured by the Americans. But with it all, he had 
bravely suffered his loss, and held no ill will for 
the Americans, believing that the issues of the war 
had been determined by a Supreme being, and that 
they were right. 

At a late hour the three men parted, going to 
their staterooms; Albert Strickland and Jose Juan 
to sleep soundly, but John Hatton to lie awake 
through all the night long, with conflicting mem- 
ories and emotions holding high carnival in his soul. 

Naturally, John Hatton and Vesta Juan drifted 
together, and so far as was practicable remained in 
the company of each other through the remainder 
of the three days’ voyage. 

The five young people formed a mutually pleas- 
ant company, and it was agreed that after landing 
they should remain together while seeing Italy. 
Furthermore, at Vesta’s earnest invitation it was 
agreed that Hatton and Strickland should visit her 
at Lugano, and that the entire party should spend 
the summer together in Switzerland. 

After some week« of delightful sightseeing in 
Italy, the land of music, art and architecture, the 
five young people boarded the train for picturesque 
Switzerland, where the God of nature in creation 
has wrought such wonders. 

276 


THE TRANSITION 


Through the delightful days spent in each other’s 
company a strange, unusual attachment grew be- 
tween John Hatton and Vesta Juan. Together they 
climbed the mountains, together they sailed upon 
the lakes. John recited to Vesta the thrilling ac- 
counts of American life, and Vesta, whose beauti- 
ful being seemed to embody the glories of the ro- 
mance and story of Italy and Spain, held his heart 
captive as she recited the stories and sang the songs 
of those nations. 

By mutual understanding these two young people 
loved each other. 

At John Hatton’s actions, Albert Strickland was 
puzzled, for often in the quiet secrecy of their 
room Hatton would take from his pocket a ring, 
gaze upon it and handle it fondly. Then lost in 
deep meditation the young preacher would sit and 
muse for hours at a time. Strickland knew that 
within the soul of his friend a conflict was going 
on, and being in possession of some facts which he 
had not communicated to Hatton, he (Strickland) 
was exceedingly anxious as to the outcome. 

Strickland’s conscience smote him because he had 
not communicated to Hatton — a reminder from 
Langdon which had, through the mails, recently 
come to him, but felt some relief from the fact that 
within a few days, in obedience to the communica- 
tion, it would become necessary for both him and 
Hatton to go to Rome. 

It is well to state here that Albert Strickland was 
277 


THE TRANSITION 


somewhat excusable for his seeming neglect of John 
Hatton’s personal interests for there was an affair 
of his own in connection with Paolina Carraro that 
of late had occupied the greater part of his time. 

So, one night just before retiring, Strickland said 
to Hatton, ‘T dislike to be the means of breaking up 
our delightful associations here in Lugano, but 
within a few days we must go to Rome.” 

“But, Al,” said Hatton, “I do not care to go to 
Rome. It is much pleasanter here.” 

“Perhaps so,” replied Strickland, “but we must 
go to Rome.” 

“Very well,” answered Hatton. “Your word is 
law, in matters of this kind, and to Rome we shall 
go.” 

After some time had passed, and Strickland was 
asleep, John Hatton aroused him by saying: “Say, 
Al, if we must go to Rome why not invite our 
friends to accompany us?” 

“Oh, go to sleep! We will talk about that to- 
morrow,” growled Strickland. 

The next day at John Hatton’s urgent solicita- 
tion Jose, Vesta and Paolina agreed to accompany 
John Hatton and Albert Strickland to Rome. 

This arrangement was against Strickland’s better 
judgment, and had it not been that Paolina was to 
be in the party he would have opposed it. 

Three days later these five young people were 
delightfully housed in the hotel “Grand Conti- 
nental,” at Rome, the city of the Csesars. 

278 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


In the afternoon of their first day at Rome Jose 
and Vesta Juan and Paolina Carraro went to call 
upon relatives who lived near the Quirinal. 

At John Hatton’s suggestion, he and Albert 
Strickland called a cab and were driven to the gar- 
den on Pincian Hill. After arriving at that place 
the cab was dismissed, and the two friends walked 
leisurely over the beautiful grounds. 

Pincian Hill is the pleasure resort of Rome, and 
this appeared to be one of the gala days of the sea- 
son. The Royal Military band was giving a grand 
concert. The elite of Rome and many visitors from 
many nations were there, promenading through the 
grounds, circling around the beautiful driveways in 
splendid autos, and in magnificent equipages drawn 
by prancing steeds. 

After a while Hatton and Strickland, being some- 
what weary from continued walking, upon coming 
to the high balcony on the Pincian that overlooks 
the city, and finding a vacant settee, they sat down 
for rest and observation. 

Around the driveway immediately in front of 
Hatton and Strickland the autos and carriages were 
still passing. In the band stand the great band, 
the pride of musical Italy, was rendering some 
279 


THE TRANSITION 


grand theme which to John Hatton seemed to in- 
terpret the history of Rome, as in solemn pano- 
rama the city lay before him. Drawn out like a 
thread in the distance was the famous Appian Way; 
yonder, in another direction, could be seen the ruins 
of the Palatine; and hard by stood the decaying 
Tower of Nero, near the Tarpian Rock. Within 
the compass of vision from that point of vantage 
might also be seen the oval roof of the Pantheon, 
under which the dust of kings has for centuries 
been sleeping; the ruins of the Colosseum and 
Forum, replete with historical wonder and thrilling 
story; and, silhouetted against the horizon, on the 
summit of a distant hill, far across the city, is the 
imposing equestrian statue of Garibaldi, the hero 
of modern Italy. 

Wrought upon by some strange spell, John Hat- 
ton became deeply meditative, and was seemingly 
lost in a waking dream. Strickland, seeing that 
for the first time in a long while John Hatton had 
drifted into one of his moods characteristic of other 
days, thought it might be well to leave him alone 
for a short while, and discreetly arose, saying, “If 
you will excuse me, I will stroll around for a while 
and return within half an hour.” 

“Very well,” said Hatton, only half conscious 
that Strickland had spoken or was leaving him 
alone. 

The sun was sinking low in the west, and in the 
distance, between John Hatton and the sunset, tow- 
280 


THE TRANSITION 

ered the dome of St. Peter’s; the vesper bell was 
ringing. 

John awoke from his reverie as a ca rriage passed 
in front of him. In it were seated tMo ladies and 
a gentleman. As yet he had not a clear view of 
their faces. Suddenly, the younger one turned her 
face toward John Hatton, and instantly she stood 
up in the carriage ; with a leap and a bound Eleanor 
Tarvin was upon the ground and in John Hatton’s 
arms. 

Here let us turn away from Rome, and go back 
to Princeton, Kentucky, and take up a thread of 
our story dropped when John Hatton left that town 
to take up his work in Indianati. 

When John Hatton made his last visit to the Tar- 
vin home, Mrs. Tarvin thought that affair between 
him and her daughter was closed forever. The 
dramatic scene at the door when John Hatton took 
leave of Eleanor Tarvin, the replacing of the ring 
upon her finger, and his taking it again to keep as 
a token of her fidelity to him had been kept as a 
sacred secret between the two young people. From 
that time until their unexpected meeting in Rome 
there had been no communication between them, 
and of each other they had heard nothing except 
indirectly. 

From the time of John Hatton’s departure from 
Princeton, however, Eleanor was very different 
from what she had been in former days. Most of 




THE TRANSITION 

the time she passed in deep meditation, and for 
the society of others she seemed to care but little. 
Her activities in church and social life practically 
ceased, and what little she did do in this way was 
purely formal and perfunctory. All who knew 
her felt that she had suffered a great disappointment 
and was carrying a heavy sorrow. 

Colonel Tarvin was deeply grieved, but silently 
shared with his beloved child the great disappoint- 
ment that had come into her life. Mrs. Tarvin, 
ever anxious for the future of her daughter, tried 
in vain to cheer her, and continually planned social 
arrangements and brought about situations by which 
she hoped to divert the girl’s mind and enlist her 
interest in other things. 

After futile effort to cheer the heart of her 
daughter, Mrs. Tarvin conceived and suggested to 
her husband the idea of an extended visit to Europe, 
hoping that the sea voyage, with a complete change 
of environment, might cause Eleanor to forget the 
past experiences, which had so depressed her spirit. 

To this Colonel Tarvin gave his earnest approval, 
and when the matter was presented to Eleanor she 
consented, but without any enthusiasm. 

All arrangements for the trip were perfected, and 
Colonel Tarvin with his wife and daughter boarded 
the train for New York City. The journey carried 
them through Indianati. Only God and the broken- 
hearted girl can ever know the sad, sacred emo- 
tions that she felt as they passed through the city 
282 


THE TRANSITION 


in which lived the one and only man whom she 
had ever loved and for whom she could ever care. 
To see him, before sailing for distant lands, she 
knew would be impossible, but to have done so she 
would have almost given her life. 

It was with great sorrow that Uncle Stephen and 
Aunt Eliza said good-by to Miss Eleanor, but they 
were reconciled to her going because they believed 
the change would be good for her, and, too, because 
with their simple, child-like faith they believed God 
would finally bring their ^Taby” and ‘‘Mas’ John 
Hatton” together, to be separated no more until 
death. 

The last few weeks before leaving Princeton 
Eleanor Tarvin was much with her dear friend 
Zanita Eulton. They talked together fully and free- 
ly, but in sacred confidence. Eleanor confided to 
Zanita that she still loved John Hatton, and that she 
could never again be happy while separated from 
him. 

Miss Tarvin also talked freely with S. D. Lang- 
don, and the understanding between them was that 
through her friend Zanita she should be kept in- 
formed concerning John Hatton’s life and work 
while she was in foreign lands. 

Colonel Tarvin, moved with tender emotion, bade 
a long, affectionate good-by to his wife and daugh- 
ter. 

On board the ship Mrs. Tarvin and her daughter 
soon formed many acquaintances and became very 
283 


THE TRANSITION 


popular with the other passengers. Eleanor was 
easily the most attractive young lady on board, and 
received marked attention. 

It soon developed that the social lion among all 
the passengers was Count Rene de Lantenac, of 
Paris, who had been spending some months in 
America, probably in quest of some heiress whose 
fortune might be exchanged for the title which was 
his sole possession. 

Mrs. Tarvin was much interested in the Count, 
and was greatly flattered by the marked courtesies 
paid to her by the Frenchman. Eleanor was po- 
lite to him, but, notwithstanding her mother’s en- 
thusiasm, she saw nothing extraordinary in that 
particular individual. 

For some days the Count very wisely refrained 
from pressing his attentions upon Miss Eleanor, 
appearing to be more interested in Mrs. Tarvin than 
in any other lady on board. 

In their extended conversation Mrs. Tarvin most 
adroitly let it be known that her family was pos- 
sessed of large wealth, and, of course, that the 
daughter was the only child, and would eventually 
fall heir to all the Tarvin estate, all of which was 
very attractive to this Parisian, whose finances were 
at ebb. 

A number of other young women on the ship 
were much interested in the Count, but in none 
of them did he see a prize worth the game. 

So, while he knew Miss Tarvin as yet had not 
284 



“Albert Strickland met the Count in the hotel office.” — P. 304. 


(Facing page^ 284.) 




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THE TRANSITION 

given him a serious thought, he with great wisdom 
and cunning set about winning her, and the first 
task was to enlist the sympathy of her mother, which 
was easily accomplished. 

Matters did not progress to Mrs. Tarvin’s en- 
tire satisfaction, but the Count was not discour- 
aged, for he had learned that “Madame” and her 
daughter contemplated spending some time abroad. 

The distinguished gentleman was content to bide 
his time, feeling quite sure that after leaving the 
ship, in the gay life of Paris, the young lady would 
be more susceptible to his wiles. 

Most graciously the Count proffered his services 
as escort to Mrs. Tarvin and her daughter from 
Southampton to Paris, which kindness and distin- 
guished honor Mrs. Tarvin, of course, gladly ac- 
cepted. 

After arriving in Paris, the Count frequently 
called at the hotel where these American ladies 
were stopping; he introduced them into the social 
circles in which he moved, and in many ways made 
their stay in Paris most delightful. 

Ere long Mrs. Tarvin’s heart was rejoiced to see 
that Eleanor really appeared to like the Count and 
to find great pleasure in his company. Often when 
it had been arranged that the three should go out 
driving together, Mrs. Tarvin would suddenly be- 
come indisposed, and Eleanor had to accompany the 
Count, alone. 


285 


THE TRANSITION 


In the course of events, a friend of Mrs. Tarvin 
in Princeton, received a letter from Paris, as fol- 
lows : 

''St. James Hotel, 
Paris. 

"My Dear Friend: We are having a glorious 
stay in Paris. Personally, I am enjoying it to the 
fullest measure, but my chief delight is from the 
fact that Eleanor — dear child — is so happy. Oh, 
you would scarcely know her, she is so well, and so 
different in spirit from what she was when we left 
Princeton. I think she has entirely forgotten the 
sad, silly experience which brought so much sorrow 
into her life. 

"Believe me, it is with much pride that I tell you 
she is much interested in Count Rene de Lantenac, 
whom we met on board the ship, coming over, and 
who has been very constant in his attentions to her 
ever since. He is perfectly lovely! 

"The Count confides in me, and has told me that 
he now feels confident of having won her affection. 

"Will that not be grand? Oh, I wish you were 
here to rejoice with me! The marked attention 
paid us by so many distinguished people in Paris is 
just lovely. 

"As you know, my dear friend, much trouble and 
care have fallen to my lot with reference to Elea- 
nor, but this more than repays me for it all. Now, 
I can see that had it not been for the affair with 
that young man Hatton, we probably should not 
286 


THE TRANSITION 

have come to Europe when we did, perhaps we 
would have never met the Count, and the great 
honor that is to come to the Tarvin family by Elea- 
nor’s marriage would never have been. 

But, it is one of those things that was to he, and 
we are happy. 

‘'In this same mail I am conveying the good news 
to Colonel Tarvin. Am writing also to Dr. Fer- 
guson — the dear good old man! He has been so 
lonely the past few years; the people seem to have 
forsaken him since that heretical young preacher 
led them astray. He will rejoice to know that at 
last his reward has come in the realization that he 
was one of the instruments in the hands of the Lord 
in saving Eleanor for the great, but worthy, honor 
she is about to receive. 

“You may tell a few of our closest friends, but 
for a while do not let the public know of this af- 
fair. I desire that the surprise be sprung after the 
marriage has taken place. 

“Believe me, affectionately yours, 

“Laura Radcliff Tarvin.” 

“Well, this is too good to keep!” said Miss 
Matthews, a maiden lady of fifty, formerly an ac- 
tive member of the church in Princeton where John 
Hatton preached, and a great friend of Mrs. Tar- 
vin’s. 

Within a week, though Miss Matthews spoke of 
the matter “confidentially” to all her friends (who 
287 


THE TRANSITION 

were few in number), in some way her confidence 
was violated, and the Princeton papers got hold of 
the news; then the Associated Press took it, and it 
was published broadcast that Miss Eleanor Tarvin, 
of Princeton, Kentucky, was engaged to Count 
Rene de Lantenac, of Paris, and that the marriage 
would take place in the early fall of the present 
year. 

Colonel Tarvin was furious at the news, but was 
unable to contradict it. He was making his plans 
to start to Europe, when Miss Zanita Fulton asked 
him to call on her as she had some important news 
for him. 

To the Colonel Miss Fulton read the following 
letter : 

“My Dear Zanita: I am simply frantic. There 
is not one iota of truth in the report of my en- 
gagement to Count Rene de Lantenac. He is a per- 
fect bore. I dislike him! On mother’s account I 
have treated him with respect. He has asked me to 
marry him. Mother has entreated me to accept 
him, but I have not consented and never shall! I 
would rather be dead than married to a man who 
thinks more of my money than he does of me. 

“But, Zanita, did I know that he loved me de- 
votedly and would marry me though I had not a 
dollar, I could never think of caring for him; for, 
my dear, you know I have no heart of my own to 
give to anyone. I love John Hatton, and though I 
may never see him again in this world, I know he 
288 


THE'TRANSITION 


is true to me, and our love for each other shall be 
kept for eternity. 

shall insist upon leaving Paris at an early 
date. Our plans are now practically made, but I 
fear my purpose is thwarted, for the Count insists 
upon meeting us in Rome, and mother will hear to 
nothing else. 

“Your dear letter telling me of Mr. Hatton’s 
illness, his partial recovery, and of plans to visit 
Europe, has just been received, and has filled me 
with commingled sadness and joy. 

“Of course you do not know just when he will 
sail or for what port. 

“Please make a note of this: no matter where 
else we may go, or whether the Count is with us, 
I shall on the thirtieth day of October be at the 
Hotel Grand Continental, Rome. That is some time 
off, I know, but there is a purpose in fixing it so. 
Please communicate these facts to Mr. Langdon. 
He will understand. 

“Pray for me, Zanita, and give my undying love 
to Dad, when you see him. In to-day’s mail I am 
writing him that the report of my engagement is 
false. 

“God bless you always, my dear, sweet little 
friend. Faithfully yours, 

“Eleanor Tarvin.” 

“Thank God — thank God!” sobbed Colonel Tar- 
vin as his stalwart body shook with emotion. “My 

289 


THE TRANSITION 

child and her fortune shall not be bartered away to 
a foreign pauper who has nothing to bestow upon 
a worthy woman but an empty title and unending 
misery. 

“Then I shall not go to Europe now/’ continued 
the Colonel, “for Eleanor is able to take care of 
herself. There may be reason for my going later, 
but, if so, I trust it may be upon a happier mission 
than that upon which I was about to start.” 

Colonel Tarvin had been in a constant state of 
melancholia since the departure of his wife and 
daughter. Through the correspondence of his wife 
with some friends soon after arriving in Paris, it 
was generally talked in Princeton that Eleanor had 
completely forgotten John Hatton and had become 
infatuated with a foreigner. Colonel Tarvin took 
no account of this, but in some way it came to the 
ears of Uncle Stephen and Aunt Eliza, and was to 
their simple, confiding souls a shock from which 
they never recovered. At once they appeared to 
lose all lease upon life, some mysterious illness seized 
upon them, and ere long both of them died and 
were tenderly laid to rest by Colonel Tarvin and 
a few of his friends. 

It was no mere incident then, when in their room 
at Lugano Albert Strickland said to John Hatton, 
at a particular time, “we must go to Rome.” For 
before Strickland and Hatton left America Sam 
Langdon had said to Strickland “On a certain date 
which I have given you, Eleanor Tarvin will be at 
290 


THE TRANSITION 


the Grand Continental, in Rome. Wherever you 
go, or Avhatever you do between now and then is of 
little consequence,” he continued, ‘"but see to it that 
upon this date John Hatton and R. A. Strickland 
are registered also at the Grand Continental.” 


291 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 


Mrs. Tarvin at once recognizing John Hatton, 
threw up her hands and literally shrieked with ter- 
ror, crying to Count Rene de Lantenac, ‘‘rescue my 
daughter from that villain !” 

“But, madam,” said the Count, “ze daughter did 
fly to ze villian. I am insult! Ze anger arise wiz 
Count Rene de Lantenac, and he demand ze ex- 
blanation from ze daughter, for in ze abruptness 
she leaves ze carriage with hastening to ze villain !” 

Mrs. Tarvin alighted, and with the Count ap- 
proached John Hatton and Eleanor. 

John Hatton bowed to Mrs. Tarvin politely, but 
said not a word. 

Mrs. Tarvin said, “Sir, I do not understand this, 
and I demand that you leave our presence at once, 
and never speak to my daughter again.” 

“Mrs. Tarvin,” replied John Hatton, “this is not 
the result of any prearrangement upon my part. I 
did not know that you and your daughter were in 
Rome, and can assure you, if I may say it, that this 
is the happiest surprise of my life.” 

The Count bowed low, saying, “And it is ze 
greatest surprise zat has come into ze career of 
Count Rene de Lantenac, and he request ze exbla- 
292 




“lie is a rich American, and has much money on his 
person.” — Page 300. 


(Facing page 293.) 


THE TRANSITION 


nation of ze young lady why she leave ze carriage 
in such discourteous manner. Is ze gentleman of 
blood relation?” 

John Hatton, without speaking, bowed to Elea- 
nor, then facing Mrs. Tarvin and the Count, stood 
attention, and waited the young lady’s reply. 

''Mother, and Count de Lantenac, all I have to 
say is that this is the most glorious surprise of my 
life. I have waited and suffered, and I have prayed 
God to bring us together, with the vow that should 
we meet again, it would be to separate no more. 

"And now. Count de Lantenac,” she continued, 
"please accept my thanks for the attention and 
courtesies you have shown me, but with the under- 
standing that they end here and now.” 

"And, mother,” the young lady continued, "I pre- 
fer to be left alone for a while with Mr. Hatton. I 
will join you at the hotel within an hour.” 

Mrs. Tarvin hesitated, but saw determination 
written upon the face of her daughter, and, turn- 
ing to the Count, said, "Will you please, sir, be kind 
enough to escort me to the hotel?” 

"Wiz pleasure, madam,” most graciously replied 
the Count. 

Then, bowing to Miss Tarvin and John Hatton, 
the Count said, "Your dismissal is accepted for ze 
present, and of ze gentleman I shall have ze satis- 
faction.” ' 

When left alone John and Eleanor sat down for 
a few minutes’ conversation. 

293 


THE TRANSITION 

^‘Tell me, what can all this mean?’^ said John 
Hatton. 

'T do not know,’’ replied Eleanor, “unless it is 
just one of those things which, as mother often says, 
*was to he I 

“Let us not try to account for it, but rejoice that 
it is true,” said John Hatton. 

“Where are you stopping?” asked Eleanor. 

“At the Grand Continental,” he replied, and 
asked, “And where are you stopping?” 

With a laugh, she said, “At the Grand Conti- 
nental.” 

“That is passing strange,” observed John Hat- 
ton. “And we do not have to be separated again ?” 
he asked. 

“Not unless you so elect,” she said. 

John Hatton took from his pocket the ring she 
had given him at Princeton, and held it up before 
her. 

He slipped it on her finger, and the hearts of both 
were again at rest. 

“Do you know,” Eleanor said, after a most ap- 
propriate intermission, “I fear trouble from this 
Frenchman. You remember he said something 
about 'satisfaction’ — and perhaps that means a chal- 
lenge to fight a duel.” 

“Duel!” laughed John Hatton — “what claim has 
he upon you, that should call for a duel with me?” 

“None whatever, so far as I am concerned, save 
as mother has led him to expect that he could win 
294 


THE TRANSITION 


my hand. But perhaps he feels that we have ip- 
sulted him, and that you, being the gentleman, 
should be held responsible for it,” said Eleanor. 

'‘Very well. I have no uneasiness upon that 
score,” said John Hatton. 

“We have some time yet,” remarked Eleanor. 
“Let us sit here and talk for a little while. There 
are a thousand questions I want to ask you.” 

“I want you to tell me all about yourself and 
what you have been doing all this long while. I 
heard of your illness, through Mr. Langdon and 
Zanita. Why did you come to Europe? Have 
you succeeded with your work? Tell me about 
your preaching, and your church — I know you have 
had great success — have you ever thought of me? 
Oh, by the way, you of course have read ‘The 
Tower of Trinity’? — everybody has read it — I could 
not but think of you when I read that wonderful 
book, for it is so much like you — just like the ser- 
mons you used to preach in Princeton. Oh, dear! 
tell me everything.” 

John Hatton saw Albert Strickland walking lei- 
surely toward them. 

“My dear, I can’t tell you everything now, for I 
see my friend coming toward us — but one thing 
which you will rejoice to know, and which I will 
tell you now, is, that I am the author of ‘The Tower 
of Trinity.’ ” 

At this moment Albert Strickland approached the 
couple, and Hatton arose, saying, “Miss Tarvin, this 

295 


THE TRANSITION 


is my good friend and traveling companion, Mr. 
R. A. Strickland, of Indianati.” 

Strickland bowed courteously as the young lady 
arose and with extended hand said, “Mr. Strick- 
land, I am very happy indeed to see you. Through 
Mr. Langdon, of Princeton, I have often heard of 
you, and now, especially in existing circumstances, 
I am delighted to see you.” 

“I thank you,” said Strickland, bowing again. 

A thousand thoughts shot through his mind in 
connection with the fact that he had a very com- 
plicated matter on his hands, for which he in a 
large measure was responsible. 

Just what would be the outcome of the meeting 
between Eleanor Tarvin and Vesta Juan, which, he 
realized must soon take place, was the thing that 
puzzled him. His conscience smote him, too, be- 
cause he might have avoided the meeting of these 
two young women, and would have done so, had it 
not been for his own attachment to Paolina Car- 
raro, which had, to some extent, led him to neg- 
lect the interests of his friend. 

“Al,” said Hatton, “isn’t it remarkable that we 
should have this happy meeting here in Rome, and 
especially that we should all be stopping at the same 
hotel?” 

“Quite so,” replied Strickland, and a knowing 
glance passed between Strickland and Miss Tarvin. 

Strickland looked at his watch, and observed that 


296 


THE TRANSITION 

it was time that they should be returning to the 
hotel. 

Upon arriving at the hotel, Eleanor found that 
her mother had become very much indisposed, and 
desired to be left alone in her room during the eve- 
ning. 

There was awaiting Miss Tarvin, also, a note 
from Count Rene de Lantenac asking that he might 
call that evening for a final conversation, to which 
she courteously, but positively, replied, declining to 
see him again. 

Eleanor Tarvin, John Hatton and Albert Strick- 
land were sitting in the large reception ' parlor of 
the Grand Continental, when from the adjoining 
music room came the strains of beautiful, pathetic 
music, an old Spanish love song. 

Eleanor was at once all attention, and softly ex- 
claimed, ‘'How wonderfully sweet!” 

Strickland was disturbed, and John Hatton turned 
pale, for it was Vesta Juan who was playing and 
singing. 

“Why, what is the matter?” asked Eleanor, just 
as the music ceased, seeing the very unusual expres- 
sion upon his face. 

Just then a beautiful young woman, the embodi- 
ment of grace and poetry, came gliding into the 
room, and' exclaimed, “Oh, you are here ! I have 
just been amusing myself at the piano, waiting for 
you to come. Jose and Paolina are out for a walk, 
but Mr. Strickland will not be jealous of Jose for 
297 


THE TRANSITION 


he is a cousin.” And then, with a merry laugh, she 
gracefully glided up to John Hatton with extended 
hand, saying, ''How are you, anyhow? Have you 
passed the day pleasantly? Is it as delightful in 
Rome as it was in Lugano?” 

All the while, Vesta Juan had not taken notice of 
Eleanor Tarvin, as this was a public room, and the 
presence of strangers was not uncommon. 

John Hatton was confused, and could say noth- 
ing. 

Albert Strickland arose, saying, "Miss Juan, we 
have been delighted to-day by an accidental meet- 
ing with some friends from America. Miss Tar- 
vin, will you meet Miss Juan?” 

Eleanor Tarvin arose, the two young women 
looked each other straight in the eyes ; in an instant 
each divined the purpose of the other’s presence. 

"Be seated, please,” said Albert Strickland. 

Then for a moment there was a painful silence, 
which John Hatton broke by awkwardly stammer- 
ing, "Miss Tarvin, we met Miss Juan, her brother 
and her cousin on the ship coming over,” then re- 
alizing how awkwardly he had put it, tried to make 
amends by saying, "but we have, found it very 
pleasant to be with them.” 

"Thanks, Mr. Hatton,” said Vesta, with a tinge 
of sarcastic irony in her voice, continuing, "I trust 
the months you have spent with us have not bored 
you, and feel at least that you should not regret it 


298 


THE TRANSITION 

on account of its significance to your friend Mr. 
Strickland.’’ 

Here Eleanor spoke for the first time, saying, 
‘^I’m sure Mr. Hatton has enjoyed your society. 
Miss Juan, and it certainly has been very beneficial 
to him. I understand he was in very poor health 
when he left America, but now he looks as though 
he was never ill a day in his life.” 

“Indeed I have been very happy, and shall never 
forget the marked kindnesses and courtesies ex- 
tended us by Miss Juan and her brother,” said poor 
John. 

Just then Jose and Paolina entered the room, and 
were introduced to Miss Tarvin. 

The six young people were seated near each other, 
John and Vesta, Jose and Eleanor, Albert and Pao- 
lina, and easily drifting into conversation, the high 
tension of the few minutes before was soon re- 
lieved. 

Naturally, when it was time for dinner, the 
young people went to the dining-room in the order 
named. 

During the progress of the meal, Jose Juan sug- 
gested that a delightful way to spend the evening 
would be to go to the Colosseum and view the ruins 
by moonlight. To this proposition they all agreed, 
and ordered cabs to be ready when dinner was 
over. 

Count Rene de Lantenac’s valet was standing in 
front of the hotel when the three cabs drove up and 
299 


THE TRANSITION 


stopped. From the hotel porter the valet learned 
that three young couples then in the dining-room 
were going to drive over to the Colosseum. 

The valet hastened to the Count’s room and con- 
veyed to him the information just obtained. A low 
and hurried conversation was carried on in French 
between the Count and his valet. 

The valet was standing in the shadow of the 
hotel when the young people came out to get into 
the waiting cabs. Standing in the shadow near 
him were two ugly specimens of the lowest Italian 
element, ragged and hungry, and muttering hatred 
and vengeance against the rich Americanos. 

The valet motioned them over to him, and whis- 
pered to them that these people were going to the 
Colosseum, and might spend hours there seeing 
the ruins by the moonlight. Then, pointing to John 
Hatton, who with Vesta Juan was seated in the rear 
cab, said, “He is a rich American, and has much 
money on his person. Wait for him within some 
dark spot within the Colosseum and there is your 
opportunity.” 

As they drove through the streets of Rome, Vesta 
said, “Mr. Hatton, you love the beautiful American 
lady, and she loves you?” 

“My dear girl,” said John Hatton, “it is true. 
She and I have loved each other for a long while, 
but our meeting to-day was a complete surprise, for 
I did not expect ever to see her again.” 

“Then, Mr. Hatton, my heart is broken,” said 
300 


THE TRANSITION 


Vesta. would to God I could die to-night, for 
there is no reason now why I should live. Death 
would be sweet now with the thought of the happy 
hours we have spent together, and that I should not 
have to suffer the pangs of knowing another to be 
in possession of that upon which my heart had been 
fixed.” 

“Do not talk that way, please,” said John Hatton, 
“for it makes me very sad. There shall always be 
within my heart a warm place for you, even as 
there has been during these happy days we have 
spent together.” 

“After to-night I feel that we shall be separated 
forever,” said Vesta. 

“Oh, no, no, no!” said John Hatton, “there are 
many things I have yet to say to you. You must 
know the story of Miss Tarvin and myself, and you 
must understand me more fully, for then you cannot 
censure me. Then you will love her, and at least 
have sympathy in store which will render you com- 
pletely happy. You are too beautiful and good to 
suffer.” 

“Perhaps there is something supremely good 
awaiting me, but not in this world,” sadly remarked 
Vesta, as they were alighting from the cab to enter 
the Colosseum. 

The three couples were met at the entrance to 
the Colosseum by Georgioli, a faithful Roman 
guide, who was to show them through and explain 
the wonders of the vast ruins. 

301 


THE TRANSITION 


Following Georgioli first, were Jose Juan and 
Eleanor, next came Albert Strickland and Paolina 
Carraro, and in the rear John Hatton and Vesta 
Juan. 

After strolling for an hour or more through the 
ruins, listening to the thrilling story of Georgioli as 
he told the history of the Colosseum and the people 
associated therewith, the party becoming weary, 
decided to rest for a while. 

John and Vesta were seated perhaps thirty paces 
from the others upon an old broken column which 
lay in front of one of the dark recesses where in 
other days the gladiators had stood waiting their 
turn to come forth into the arena. 

Suddenly, quick as a flash, two dark figures shot 
out from the alcove, and one of them plunged a 
stiletto into John Hatton’s back. At the same in- 
stant the other snatched from his pocket the wallet 
containing his money. With a scream, Vesta sprang 
up. A blade flashed in the moonlight, and she fell 
beside the apparently lifeless form of John Hatton. 

The assassins disappeared by the time the horror- 
stricken party reached John and Vesta. 

With the exception of Georgioli, all the party 
were too excited to do anything but wail and scream 
and run to and fro without purpose. 

Georgioli lifted Vesta up, but saw she was dead. 
Then he discovered that John Hatton was still 
breathing, but unconscious. Rushing out to the 
street, he called for the police, and three cabs. The 
302 


THE TRANSITION 


wounded man and the dead girl, with the terrified 
party, were hurried to a hospital. 

The entire police force of Rome were called into 
activity in search of the murderers, but never suc- 
ceeded in apprehending them. 

Count Rene de Lantenac and his valet chuckled 
with delight at the result of the evening, knowing 
that they would be exempt from the law, as the as- 
sassins had committed the crime for the purpose of 
robbery only. 

Vesta’s premonition that she should find no more 
happiness in this world had come true. 

Albert Strickland and Eleanor Tarvin would not 
leave the hospital, for momentarily it was expected 
that John Hatton would die. 

The sad intelligence of the evening was conveyed 
to Mrs. Tarvin, and she insisted that her daughter 
return at once. This Eleanor positively refused to 
do, and Mrs. Tarvin, thrown into a fit of nervous 
excitement, asked that Count de Lantenac be sent 
for. 

The Count was profuse in his sympathy, and 
agreed to accompany Mrs. Tarvin and Eleanor to 
Paris at once, provided the young lady could be per- 
suaded to go. 

The physicians and nurses announced that the 
patient was still alive, and that there was one chance 
in a thousand for his recovery. Eleanor said that 
in no circumstances would she leave Rome while 
John Hatton was alive. She refused to discuss 

303 


THE TRANSITION 


the question with her mother, and would not speak 
to the Count. 

Albert Strickland met the Count in the hotel of- 
fice, and calling him aside, said : “See here, sir, 
your services are not needed any further in this af- 
fair. Since Mr. Hatton’s sad experience, I am for 
the time being Miss Tarvin’s protector. She de- 
sires that you leave her alone, and her wishes must 
be respected. Her mother is not now responsible 
for what she does or says. For your own good, I 
advise you to leave Rome on the next train.” 

With a scowl and a sneer the Count turned away 
without uttering a word, but on the next train for 
Paris, the Count and his valet were passengers. 

The morning papers of Europe and America 
the next day announced that the Rev. John Hatton 
of Indianati, U. S. A., the author of “The Tower 
of Trinity,” had on the previous evening been 
stabbed at Rome, and that the wound was probably 
fatal. 

The same day. Colonel Tarvin at Princeton, Ken- 
tucky, received a cablegram from his daughter: 
“Come at once.” 

John Hatton lingered for a week at the point of 
death. Eleanor remained by his side, and prayed 
day and night for his recovery. His parents and 
loved ones at home prayed that he might recover 
and be restored to his people. Thousands of tele- 
grams and letters of sympathy poured in to him at 
Rome from his native land. 

304 


THE TRANSITION 


Fourteen days from the date when the attempt 
was made upon John Hatton’s life, Colonel Tarvin, 
Sam Langdon, and the Rev. M. J. Grandin (by 
whom he had been baptized when taken into the 
church, and who had been his constant friend), ar- 
rived in Rome, and were delighted beyond measure 
to find their friend out of danger. After a week 
had elapsed the- patient began to improve and within 
a month, was able to leave the hospital and go to the 
hotel. 

Upon the discovery of John Hatton’s fame and 
riches, Mrs. Tarvin changed attitude toward him 
altogether, and humbly begged his forgiveness of 
all the injustice and wrongs she had done him. 

The party of Americans remained some weeks 
longer in Rome until John Hatton was fully re- 
covered. 

Albert Strickland had been corresponding with 
Paolina Carraro, and it was arranged that she 
should return to Rome, and accompany the party 
to London, and thence to New York. 

Ten days before Christmas this party of Ameri- 
cans stopped at the Hotel Victoria in London. 

Through the American EmTassador, a legal ar- 
rangement was made by which the Rev. M. J. 
Grandin might perform the marriage ceremony in 
Great Britain, and in -the parlors of the hotel, Al- 
bert Strickland and Paolina Carraro, and John Hat- 
ton and Eleanor Tarvin were quietly married. 


305 


THE TRANSITION 


During the wedding dinner the following mes- 
sage was received : 

“Gibraltar, Dec. i6, 1908. 

“With sad memories I send congratulations. 

“Jose Juan.^" 

For a moment there was silence, and then the 
beautiful Mrs. Eleanor Hatton, lifting her glass, 
sweetly said : “Let us drink to the health and happi- 
ness of lose, and to the memory of the sainted 
Vesta.^’ 

There were tears in all their eyes as they partici- 
pated in the sweet, sad libation. 

On Christmas eve the “Lusitania” landed at the 
New York pier. 

A great throng had gathered to give welcome to 
the author of “The Tower of Trinity.” 

Standing upon the deck viewing the joyful dem- 
onstration, Mrs. Tarvin wept upon the shoulder of 
her husband and said: “Surely, Colonel, this was 
to ber 

John Hatton drew his wife close to him, saying: 
“At last, my dear, we have come into our own,” 
and, turning to her mother, took her gently by the 
hand, saying: “Mrs. Tarvin, concerning Eleanor 
and myself, at least, your theology and mine agree.” 


THE END. 


306 


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